


The Wall Military Academy: Interlude

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Series: The Wall Military Academy [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comatose!Bran, Drama, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Arya, Injured!Bran, Injury, Nightmares, Prescription Drug Use, Recoperation, Sibling Bonding, Training, Trauma, Violence, emotional angst, siblinghood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: It has been nearly a year since Arya got her new partner and starting her official training as a Crow, and now it's the year that Bran is to run the APA course at Winterfell Stadium





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A short sequel to "THE WALL (MILITARY) ACADEMY". Set in the same world and takes place a year after the previous fic.**
> 
>  
> 
> **The Ages are listed as the following:  
> **  
>  Robb - 20  
> Sansa - 18  
> Arya - 17  
> Bran - 15  
> Rickon - 12  
> -  
> Jon - 19  
> -  
> Gendry - 19  
> Ygritte - 20

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(Interlude)**

"I'm comin' for you, Stark!" Lieutenant Karl Tanner called to her, his finger pressing on the trigger of the automatic weapon, already moving away from his recent takedown.

The multiple report blended together, and Arya dived for cover behind a plywood divider. The thin wood shuddered with the multiple impact, the bullets’ tips exploding and leaving blood-red marks on the wood, some bit pieces off the thick board, and others nearly made it to the other side.

Tanner was young, maybe only about 26-years-old. And though he could be considered handsome with his fair complexion, brown does eyes and dark hair, and thin lips—he could be as ruthless as Drill Sergeant Alliser Thorne at times, and sometimes even more so. Thorne tended to use his superior height and girth, stink-eye, harsh words and loud tone to intimidate as well as train his recruits. Karl Tanner did have the height, but he was lean and muscled in body, he used his voice, but unlike Thorne, he wouldn’t scream into you face so close that you could see the hair up his nostrils, no—Tanner would come behind you, lean down and reprimand you in a whispered, cold tone that made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He wasn't afraid to get physical either; to teach her or Gendry the lesson, to prove his point at any mistake they made, to reprimand them.

They had been doing this for a year now, and Arya had never been able to get rid of that lick of fear that always went up her spine in Tanner's presence. He had already taken out Gendry, putting the older teen out with a snare before bombarding him with the sim-bullets until he hang by his ankle groaning. Arya winced in sympathy, but there was nothing she could have done for him then and used the distraction to escape from Tanner's next sights.

She had evaded him in Craster's Keep for a bit, but not for long. He found her again, and now had her trapped with nothing by plywood for cover. It would only be a minute or two before his shadow fell over her

Tanner was from the south. A district nicknamed Gin Alley in the town Flea Bottom because of its poor status, condition, and the types of people that filled its streets. That should explain all the needed explaining, except that it didn't. Gendry was the from that same poor town and the two had grown into completely different men. She couldn't explain it. All she could suppose was that they could grow up in the same town, but have two radically different childhoods. Gendry was raised by his drug addicted mother until he was three and she overdosed, then he was put in the system. A boys home until he was fifteen, ranked in the top ten at the King's Landing Stadium and joined the Wall. Tanner had both parents, but they couldn't have given more than a rat's ass for him. He ran away at ten, and lived on the streets until he was fourteen, preferring that to a boy's home—or more juvie because he had resorted to stealing and such to survive—until he was caught, processed, shoved into a boys home, forced to take King's Landing's APA course when the time came around after he turned fifteen. He scored in the top five, and decided to take his chances here at the Wall. It seemed he made the right decision concerning this.

He was top of his unit. He began his Crow training at 18 like Gendry, completed his training at 21, was promoted to sergeant and worked as a mobile unit for 2-years, promoted again to lieutenant and now trained Crow recruits himself. His young age nor birthplace didn't diminish from the fact that he was one of the best Crow trainers at the Wall.

He took no mercy on her because she was a girl, and while she appreciated the thought, she didn't want to be peppered by sim-bullets from an automatic at close range. She knew that was what he was going to do, because that was what he always did. If all this was real, no mercy would be taken on her by the enemy, so Tanner showed them no mercy either.

She took a few deep breaths, and looked around. In front of her was open and Tanner would get her quick. Behind her was Tanner ever closing, her ears strained for any sound of him but heard nothing—he was quiet like a ghost, like his booted feet never even touched the ground.

She didn't have any weapons on her, didn't even have any field equipment either. All she had on was a pair of drill fatigues and the combat boots on her feet. Kill Or Be Killed, that was Tanner's motto. Do Them In Before They Do You, she supposed he must have learned that on the streets or something, and she guessed that they were some good points to keep in mind while in battle, but she had grown in an entirely different environment and maybe she would never truly understand what Tanner meant until she killed someone herself— like she knew he had.

To her right there was no cover. The section of plywood that she was taking cover behind was about as high as she was tall, and to her left was an old, beaten section of stone wall, that intersected at another piece at a 90 ° angle, running parallel to her as she had her back to the plywood. It was about a quarter shorter than the wall in Hell's Lane. The stone had gaps in it, making for natural foot- and hand-holds. If she could climb it fast enough, Tanner wouldn't spot her until it was too late and she could escape from him down the other side. He would either have to run all the back around, or climb after her, but either of those would give her just enough time to climb back down and escape from view once again.

If she could escape from him without being detected for 15 consecutive minutes, then the drill would be over and she wouldn't have new bruises to add to the still yellowing old ones from previous sim-bullet hits.

She crawled to the wall, and out of sight by the taller section of wall and started to climb. She found the holds easily and progressed upward rather quick. She climbed trees, and now walls all the time in Hell's Lane, and she was not afraid of heights.

She slung her leg over the top edge, and glanced back down the way she had come. She hadn't heard him, but he was there, positioned about twenty-paces from the wall, the automatic upright in the firing position. She had only time to widen her eyes and attempt to escape down the other side as his finger pulled the trigger.

Sim-bullets sprayed across her back, shoving her forward. From the wall, the fall was quick. Arms out to brace herself, trying to protect her head, she landed with a thud, loud snap and chocked on cry.

Colour flashed behind her eyelids. Pain shot up and down her right arm like lightning, her knee locked harshly. Breathing through her clenched teeth she rolled onto her back with a grunt and cradled her limp and searing arm against her chest. Her knee throbbed hotly. Groaning, she took a deep breath and made herself sit up and leaned against the stone wall for support. Even through the sleeve of her fatigues it looked misshapen. It wasn't the first time that she had broken something in her body, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. It was a surprise every time. She was confused by the blood, the pain radiating all through her right arm.

She grimaced as she looked at it, her brows knitted in the center. It could have been worse, the fall could have broken her neck instead of her arm. Tanner had known that and shot her down anyways.

A shuddered went through her as she heard his steps, and she looked up from her arm as Tanner stopped a pace in front of her. His brown eyes looked almost like black sockets in the shadow, like a demon. He said nothing as he looked at her for a long moment where all she could hear was the thump of her heart in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears.

The automatic was slung across his back by the strap, and he bent down to her. She filched a little and grasped her left bicep. She knew he saw her reaction. She grunted as he pulled her suddenly to her feet, jarring her injuring, her injured knee nearly giving beneath her weight. He briefly glanced at her bloody arms as he released her.

"Nice initiative, Stark." That was one of the nicest things he had probably ever said to her in the brief year that he had been her ranking officer. "Get to medical and have that checked out." And then he turned his back on her and went back in the same direction of where he had left Gendry hanging, probably to cut him loose or teach him another lesson.

Tight lipped, she made her way east to medical, each step jarring her injured arm, her knee hardly able to take her weight. She might as well be hopping one-legged instead for all it was doing her. She was just glad that she was already in the New Gift, other wise it would have taken twice as long to get to the medical building. She hoped that the break wouldn't be too bad, but blood was never a good sign.

　

_-tbc-_   
**********Game/of/Thrones********  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(Interlude)**

Arya made it to medical, finally. Her face stiff with pain. On the way she tested her fingers, though it hurt like a mother fucker—making her whimper and bite her lip—she could move them and knew that was a good sign. She was just thankful that it was her right arm and not her left.

She briefly wondered how Gendry was fairing, if Tanner was going to help him from the snare, or keep him there a bit longer and make him get himself down as a lesson for getting caught in such a simple trap. She was sure that he faired better than her.

Mordane took her in almost immediately.

Her left knee was twisted, and swollen like a grapefruit—which was huge compared to what Sansa blatantly called her 'chicken-legs'. That was extremely evident now. The blood that Arya had been confused by earlier now that Dr. Mordane had cut away the sleeve of her fatigues made sense. Arya looked down at her arm with absurd curiosity because the thing that was poking through her skin about three inches from the crook of her elbow amid all the blood, was a jagged piece of broken bone. The nurse practitioner Talisa had given her a shot for the pain, so now all she felt as Mordane placed her arm of a block of blank film and x-rayed her limb, was a numb hotness. It was odd to look at the injury and know that it should hurt, but no being able to really feel it.

They used a wheelchair to move her from the x-ray room to the exam room because of her knee, and Talisa elevated her knee bound in icepacks as Mordane inspected the x-ray film of her arm. Apparently, both the bones had snapped in her arm, one punctured through her skin, while the other was content to scrape against the underside of her flesh (they also discovered that her wrist was fractured). It sounded bad, but the good news was that they were clean breaks without any shards of bone loose in her arm causing more damage, so she wouldn't need surgery to put pins in and remove the shards. The two women would just reset her arm, stitch up her wound and put a cast on her arm.

She watched them set her arm with a grimace, the bone ends scraping against each other, and clean away the fresh blood. After Talisa stitched the tear, they x-rayed her arm again to see if it was set right, and then wrapped her wound, and then arm in plaster to just above her elbow.

As the cast hardened, they put her in a gown and on an IV. The shot that they had given her before for the pain had been starting to wear thin, but with the IV in fresh in her arm, she was put under the full floating affects of morphine. They left her alone, laying in the exam bed, stripped from her fatigues and now in a gown, slowly being dragged under.

She wondered what was going to happen to her now that she was injured and wouldn't be able to perform her duties or even train. She'd broken her arm before, but never like this. And her knee... what was she going to do?

—

Her blink must have been a long one because the next time that she opened her eyes, the sun wasn't as bright through the windows as before, and she found Gendry sitting on a rolling stool next to her bed; his arm held across his torso. He wasn't looking at her, but instead had his deep blue gaze staring unfocused on the wall above her head, below the windows that lay nearer the ceiling, his dark brows knitted in the center.

"Wa'sup?" she mumbled. Her mouth felt full of cotton, and her eyes gritty. Gods, she always hated that about morphine.

He started a little at her voice, and jerked his gaze down at her. "You're awake—finally."

"How long have you been sitting there?" she asked.

"Not long. So, what the prognosis?"

"Broken arm," she gestured with her left hand, the IV plugged into the back of her hand, at the sling that now secured her arm to her chest. "And I twisted my knee to fuck."

Gendry winced in sympathy. "How the hell did that happen?"

"I was trapped in Craster's Keep. It was only minutes before Tanner was on me," she sighed. "I thought that I could escape if I could get over the wall."

He looked at her open-mouthed. "That was very stupid of you, I can just guess what happens next."

She shot him a glare, but it didn't last very long. "He probably had me in his sights the whole time and just wanted to see what I would do. Waited for me to get to the top... and then he shot me in the back. It threw me over the other side—and the rest is history."

They were both quiet for a moment as they both thought about it, and how seriously scary Tanner could be—totally more so than Drill Sergeant Alliser Thorne who had trained them during their 3rd-year at the Wall while they were still Cadets.

"What about you?" she broke the silence. "Did Tanner leave you hanging there for a while poking you with a stick, or what?"

He scoffed in embarrassment, carding his fingers through his dark, thick mane. "As much as I'm sure both he and you might have enjoyed that, he cut me down and sent me off to medical."

"The prognosis? You don't look too beat up,"

"It's nothing compared to you." After his exam with Dr. Luwin it was determined that he came away with a myriad bruises the diameter of a cucumber scattered across his torso, the fresher, dark purples, blending in like child's art with his older yellowing ones that were similar to her own; a cracked rib; sprained ankle; and a dash of embarrassment and shame at being the first taken out by Tanner. A week of light duty and he would be fine.

Arya was a different story all together, it would be weeks before she was back to her full health.

"You're right," she agreed. "You did get the better deal."

"So, do you know what they're going to do with you then?" he wondered.

"Haven’t figured that out yet, but I know it's totally go to suck." She complained.

He left shortly after. "Well, feel better."

"See ya."

She took a stale-tasting drink from the plastic cup on the bed table and Talisa briefly checked in on her, adjusted her IV and was nice enough to leave her with nothing to occupy her time but to lay there a stare up at the water-stained ceiling overhead.

—

Arya was going to go insane. She'd been propped up here for hours now. There wasn't a clock in the small room, and Talisa had taken her watch (for whatever reason, all she knew was that the woman better give it back to her!), so she tracked the progress of the sun through the windows above her head as it shone on the opposite wall. She estimated that it was about 1800 when Talisa returned to her with a meal tray in her hands, one of those ones that act as the plate as well.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Arya watched her set the tray on the rolling table and push it her way. "Great!" she answered with a faux accompanied smile. If she said what she actually wanted to say, she'd probably get in shit from Mordane for driving the NP from the room in tears—and Mordane was on the same level with Tanner in her own way. She felt like shit, in truth, the morphine half the cause of it. Sure, it took away the pain, but it was fucking with her body on another level too.

"That's good, corporal." Talisa gave her a smile and checked her IV. "Eat up and get your strength back, and you can be out of here by tomorrow."

"Right!" She picked up her fork with faux eagerness and looked at the tray, deciding what to try first as Talisa left her alone once more.

As soon as the woman left her, the cheerful-eagerness fell from her expression like sleet, and her face turned to that of grand distaste. In the center of the tray, in the biggest section, was a brown-gray gravy-like substance with chunks of something in it; next to that was a small mound of dry mashed potatoes; in a small square above the potatoes were soft carrots; in the other lower square was a chunk of bread; and in the opposite upper corner was a green gelatine shaped like what she was thought was supposed to be a flower? and jiggled ominously despite the fact that the table and tray were still.

Slowly, she stuck the tip of her left index finger in the gravy stuff, it could hardly be called Lukewarm. When she put her finger in her mouth, the texture was graining, and the taste was bland. There wasn't even any salt or pepper in it to give it flavour. But she supposed that it was better than what she imagined what it could have tasted like.

She sighed, poking at the food with her plastic spoon for bit, mixing everything together in the center; the chunky gravy, mashed potatoes, and soft carrots until it was a gray mashed mass with spots of pale orange in it. She took a deep breath and put a spoonful into her mouth. It was cold and she wanted to gag but made herself chew and swallow. No matter the taste, texture, temperature, or how much she would rather starve—if she didn't eat it, they would never let out of here. At least the bread actually tasted like bread. By the time she was finished, the warm glass of tap water that she was given was long gone, and it felt like there was a solid clump in her stomach.

She poked at the green mass, making it giggle in greeting. She wanted to get the taste of whatever she just ate out of her mouth, and all that she had was this Jell-o. She carved out a solid piece from the top and popped it in her mouth. She was shocked as she chewed and swallowed it, looking at the green shape with widened eyes—it tasted just like real limes. She burped and it tasted like a mixture of the two.

When Talisa came again, she looked rather pleased to find the tray empty, but Arya was anything but. She took the tray, and gave back the old, scratched wristwatch back, and told the teen she had a visitor before she left.

Arya didn't think that it would be Gendry back so soon, and hoped that it was Jon. Because for the last year now, they had different Crow instructors and partners, they didn't get to see each other everyday as they used to, but only if they both got some square-away time and found each other, or in the hall to eat, or in the showers.

But when her uncle Benjen came in, though she was disappointed, she was still glad because it would give her something to do.

"Arya," he sat on the same rolling stool that Gendry had hours earlier. "Lt. Tanner reported about your fall. I came to see how you were doing."

Arya snorted a little at that first part, but didn't much care. She supposed it was a fall, it wasn't like Tanner pushed her—just shot her. "I'm doing pretty good, but the food could have been better."

He gave her a small smile. "It's that way to drive injured soldiers back to duty."

"Count me in!" she agreed.

He chuckled. "Not just yet." She sighed. "I talked with Dr. Mordane, and she said that you were going to laid up for at least a few weeks. Sorry, Arya, but there's no duty for you just yet."

"I can't just lay in this bed and in this room for a month," she protested, "I'll go insane."

"Yes," he nodded. "I figured that, and that's why I've decided to send you back home."

"What!" she exclaimed, pushing herself forward in the bed, despite her knee, despite her arm bound to her chest. "You can't. Please don't send me away, I can still do my duty—I swear I can!"

"I know, I know." He stood from the stool and gently pushed his niece back against the stacked pillows behind her that were keeping her upright on the narrow, unrailed exam table. "I'm not sending you away for good, Arya. I'm just sending you back home to heal. You're better off there, than here going insane, as you just so accurately put it."

"Oh. I guess that is better." She agreed quietly, relieved that it was just that and not what she had been thinking.

"It is." He nodded. "I've arranged for transport to take you tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay."

He stood. "Get some rest, Arya."

"I will."

And then she was alone once more.

She sighed. She was going to be going home again after another year at the Wall, but it wasn't going to be like before. She'd be laid up for most of that time. Here, there, it was still going to suck—being injured always sucked. She vaguely wondered as the room slowly darkened as the sun moved further and further west into setting, what kind of lesson was Tanner trying to teach her this time?

—

She had been confined to the bed for the rest of the night (for which she slept through, and did not roll off for two-years practice on the narrow bunks that they were regularly made to sleep on), and for most of the afternoon (where she was given thick, tasteless porridge that should have been considered a solid for breakfast; it sat in her stomach like a stone), before Talisa made her sit in a wheel chair and pushed her to the parking lot to await her transport. She was dressed in a pair of blank grey fatigues that had the right sleeve cut off to allow for her cast, and the left leg cut to the mid-thigh to allow for her swollen knee.

Just as she was thinking about Jon and how she wouldn't see him for a month, he found her. He ran over to her, breathless, and Talisa left them alone.

"Hey," she smiled at him.

"Hey," he looked at her, his brown eyes worried. "Are you okay? When I heard you got injured—"

"I fine." She told him. "I just fell off a wall."

"You... fell off a wall." He repeated slowly, just to make sure that he had heard right.

She sighed. "Yeah, it was a drill with Tanner."

"What kind of drill includes you falling off a wall?!" he demanded.

"Evading capture." She answered. "I really am fine."

"Then why are you in a wheelchair?" he stood in front of her, his hands clenched at his sides.

"It's just a broken arm, fractured wrist, and wrenched knee, Jon."

" _Just_ a broken arm, _just_ a fractured wrist, and _just_ a wrenched knee. You are unbelievable, Arya!" he yelled at her.

" _Just_." She agreed, unfazed by his raised voice. "I'll be right as rain in a month."

"A month?!"

Arya nodded. "Since I'll just be in the way here, Benjen's sending me back to Winterfell to recuperate. It's actually great timing, considering." She shrugged.

"How is this _great timing_ for anything?!" he threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"I get to go home just when my little brother Bran has to run the APA course, I should be there at least the first time around."

"Oh. Well, you can probably give him pointers." Jon agreed, calming down.

"Yeah. I don't know if he'll finish in the top and be recruited, or even if he wants to join the Wall, but he's really good at climbing things and has good balance—I think he'll do good." She reasoned.

He nodded. "All you Starks are. If he's anything like you, he'll be top five, I'm sure of it."

Arya smiled. "I'm glad I got to see you before I had to leave, Jon."

"Me too. I was afraid I had almost missed you,"

"Not a minute too soon." She chuckled. "Don't go following in my foot steps and falling off walls, okay?"

"Don't worry, you have that covered for the both of us."

"Trust me, I won't be making that mistake again... maybe."

"Please don't." He asked.

"Okay. Good-bye, Jon. Next time you see me, it'll be on two legs."

"I look forward to it, little sister." He mussed her hair in parting.

Talisa came back as her transport back home pulled up, and helped her hopping on one foot up into the carriage. She wouldn't be doing much of anything for the next month, or near to it and wondered how long she was going to last before she tried to kill herself to make the boredom go away or try to escape back to the Wall before her mother caught her and tied her to the bed.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> Medical = Is the medical facilities located in the New Gift on the eastside. Its chief doctor is Dr. Luwin. There are only two staff that are female; Dr. Mordane and Nurse Practitioner Talisa who care for the female recruits that were let into the Wall two-years ago. This is where all recruits and offices get their physical exams/check-ups, and any medical treatment.
> 
> Athletic Proficiency Assessment or APA = the physical course test that grades each boy in high school from the age 15 to 18 in order to see if they are fit for the Wall Academy, or other such professions such as police, fireman, athlete; by order of the President with the leaders of the Military since the Wall first became a training facility thousands of years ago.  
> ~The APA Stadium is like the super bowl stadium, though not as fancy, one built in each of the major cities in Westeros.  
> ~Just allowed females to participate and join the military.
> 
> APA Course = Twenty-feet from the start point, their was a double row of a dozen tires to step through. After that was the wall twenty-feet tall that was to be climbed by net. Other side of the wall was the belly crawl in mud under a wire net. Next was the rope swing that transformed into spaced bars over a pit of water in the ground that was twenty-feet long. Some more tires. The balance beam that had the cushion of mud underneath. And finally, the 2 mile run around the field in the Stadium.


	3. Chapter 3

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

The transport dropped her off at The Pack Heart Clinic as opposed to Winterfell General Hospital in Winterfell City. She was taken in by wheelchair, checked out once more, given some prescription pain medication, anti-inflammatory meds, and antibiotic tablets and left the clinic with a single crutch supported under her left armpit instead of a wheelchair.

She used one of the payphones by the entry and called home. Ned was surprised to say the least when he answered and it was his youngest daughter. He would be at the clinic within the hour. Arya sighed, managed to get a small package of cheese crackers out of the vending machine, and waited on an empty bench at the entrance to the clinic for her father to arrive.

It was around 1200, and she would have been surprised that it was her father that answered the phone, but it was a Sunday, and he was always home on Sundays.

She sighed again as she opened the package and munched on a cracker, watching as all kinds of people came in and out of the Clinic automatic doors. People with fresh injuries, people with treated injuries, doctors or nurses coming out for a break with a coffee and a cigarette.

She knew for a fact that Ned wouldn't be coming to pick her up in the van alone, mother would be attending, that much was obvious. Arya had thought that Benjen would have called home and told her parents that she was being sent back for the next month, but it seemed he thought it would be better as a surprise instead.

The doctor had given her a shot after her check-up, so she didn't have to worry about any pain for the next couple of hours. She liked this stuff way better than morphine; though it was a lower grade, and made the pain a dull roar, she'd rather that than being completely doped up. She finished her snack, but now her mouth was all dry. She didn't have any money to get a drink for her parched throat, and wondered if it was worth the trouble to hobble back into the clinic and into the waiting room where she thought that she had seen a water cooler.

She looked down at herself, in her altered fatigues, with her casted arm in a sling, and her swollen knee all wrapped up so she could hardly bend it—and came to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. She'd just get something to drink on the way to or at home.

She sighed a third time and leaned back, staring up into the afternoon sky, the sun shining clear in the comer of her eye, halfway blinding her. Jon was probably training with Ygritte right now, and found herself jealous at the thought. She liked Gendry and he was as good as any other trainee, but he wasn't Jon—who she still thought of as her true partner.

"Arya!"

The teen startled at the sound of her name, and her gaze jerked back level to the crunching gravel of her mother running across the parking lot. She glanced around and sure enough, people were staring. Her father wasn't far behind and he looked embarrassed for the both of them. Arya struggled up onto her feet, standing level on her right leg as her mother finally reached her.

"Oh, Arya!" She exclaimed, looking at her beaten little girl.

Catelyn barely restrained herself from mauling her with hugs and kisses, and gave her a controlled hug above the shoulders, careful of Arya casted arm in the sling between them. But it seemed she allowed herself to go all out with kisses on her face and head—the safest place for such things. Arya had learned long ago to just endure these kinds of things, they were so rare in coming that she didn't see the harm. It was the pent of worry that had built up over the year since her last visit—which had garnered much the same reaction—after her first year at the Wall; but it now became doubled (if that were possible) because she had come home in a less than perfect state. Sooner, probably rather than later, Catelyn wouldn't be so affectionate with her once Arya did something (either on purpose or not) to tick her off.

"Hon, hon. Let her breathe," Ned finally managed to free his daughter, gentle but insistent. "Little Wolf," it was his turn now, and though he was cautious, he gave her a proper, warm hug.

"Daddy," she twisted her body slightly to wrap her left arm around him in return and pressed her cheek to his chest. She always found, even now that she was older, her father's arms were the safest place to be. After a moment, they pulled away.

"How are you, dear? Are you okay." Catelyn questioned.

"I'm okay, mum." Arya said as she grabbed her crutch that she had leaned against the side of the bench and tucked the top rest under her armpit.

"We can discuss all that when we get home," Ned took her bag of meds, and they slowly made their way across the packed lot.

He helped her into the back seat and after they all bucked in, Ned pulled into a gap in traffic. And that was how long Catelyn lasted.

"Arya," she twisted around in her seat to look back at the girl. "Are you sure you're alright? How did this happen? Aren't they treating you well up there?"

"Mum!" She groaned. "It's a military training depot, not fluffy clouds and cotten candy. It happened during a training exercise, and it isn't the first time. I've been injured before I ever went to the wall, and you were always angry."

"Oh, how I hated it when you climbed those wretched things!" Her hand laying over her heart.

"They're trees!" She laughed at her mother's reaction.

"And now your brother's been doing the same thing!" She shook her head. "Do neither of you care how frightful a thing it is for me to watch? And now Bran has to in the dreaded course!"

"You know he _has_ to, Cat." Ned murmured as he stopped off at a red light.

Catelyn made a soft whimper sound in the back of her throat as she faced forward again, and Ned reached over a hand and grasped hers, squeezing it.

"Bran's going to be fine, mum." Aray told her mother firmly. "He's even better at climbing than I am, there's nothing to worry about."

"That's right, listen to her. She ran the course just two years ago and everything turned out just fine." Ned comforted.

Catelyn shook her head, weepy. "Look at our baby girl, Ned! She'd not just fine!"

"But I am, mum. I'm going to be right back to normal in a few weeks, and everything will be fine." Arya winced a little internally. She guess now was not the time to say anything about her climbing a wall then, maybe it never would. She just wouldn't think about it, no need to make the woman even more needlessly worried.

The van grew quiet again the rest of the way home as Catelyn pulled herself together again. She always got this way when the APA course came around, just like every time, everywhere, every mother who loved their child reacted the same way.

—

Sansa was out with her friends, Robb was lounging in the living room watching rugby, and Bran and Rickon were out in the backyard; probably doing the thing that Catelyn hated the most—climbing. The older woman went outside to corral her missing sons, while Arya sat herself at the kitchen table, and Ned went about making her something to eat.

"Hey, just visiting us lowly civilians, huh?" Robb called.

"Got to make the masses feel appreciated, you know how it is." She called back to her elder brother easily.

He levered himself off the couch and came into the kitchen. "Wow, you look like crap, Ar!" Robb greeted her, smiling as he looked down at her.

Arya smiled back up at him. "I could say the same thing about you. What's that on you face, by the way. Looks more like a dead animal than a beard!"

"Oh, I could say the same to you, sis!" He laughed and sat at the table as Ned set a plate and glass of water in front of her, scratching at the new addition to his appearance since she last saw him.

"Thanks, dad." She drank half the glass of water, clearing her throat before speaking again. "How's school?" she asked.

"What are you? My third parent?" he scoffed. "How do you think? It's like high school, but 2x as worse!" He put his elbow on the table, leaning his cheek in his hand as he watched her take a bit of the sandwich. "What about you? I can see the Wall's treating you nice as usual."

She chuckled. "Pretty much."

"Glad your okay, Arya." He murmured.

"Thanks." She smiled at him.

"How did it happen?" he asked curious like he always was—especially after that one bear story she told him when she came back home last year, where she and Jon had to crawl inside a bear carcass to survive through a freezing blizzard while in the Beyond.

"None of that," Ned interrupted them. "There are some things that your mother is better off just not knowing."

The two siblings nodded and she finished her sandwich. If she did hear how Arya got injured, especially before Bran ran the APA course, she'd have a complete meltdown and kidnap her own son until the who event was over and done with. It would be a complete scandal, headlines reading something along the lines of: _Crazed Mother Kidnaps Own Son After Daughter Falls Off Wall._

"Ah, what happened?" Rickon gasped, as the three finally arrived from the yard and he saw his big sister.

"Just battle injuries, cool huh?"

"There is nothing ' _cool'_ about this, missy!" her mother scolded.

Arya rolled her eyes lightly and made a face. "Want to sign my cast?" she asked her younger brothers.

"Sure!" both brothers went to get some markers.

"What about me?" Robb pouted.

"If you're going to be such a kid about it." She laughed and he grinned at her.

Her brothers came back downstairs and she pulled her arm from the sling and rested it on the corner of the table, and her three brothers crowded around, jockeying for space. Half an hour later, there wasn't a free space left on the whole cast.

—

"What the fuck is this, a water bed?" She asked as she slowly lowered herself onto the edge of his bed.

Robb offered for her to take his room. Unlike the last time she was home, there was no way an air mattress on the living room floor would do her now; not with her arm and definitely not with her knee. He would be gone most of the days in class, and he could just crash on the air mattress at night, and have his room the rest of the time. She would only need it to sleep, and would be laid up on the couch for most of the day.

"No. Are you high on those pain pills of yours?" Robb asked her.

The answer to his question was yes, but one had nothing to do with the other. "Have you slept on this recently?" she returned.

His arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to the side as he looked at her and the bed. He planted his foot on the edge of the bed frame and pushed back and forth. Arya found herself moving even though she was sitting still, and grabbed the foot post for whatever support it might give her.

"Told you!" she exclaimed.

"It's an old frame," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Whatever, just help me not kill myself." She told him. It was only around 2140, but she was tired as all hell. Ned had dug out some of her old clothes and she had changed from her altered fatigues to a pair of night shorts that stopped mid-thigh, and a XL shirt that almost swallowed her whole. It sucked that she needed help, and would have done it herself if she wanted to fuck her knee and hurt herself more.

He helped her lay back on the bed, and put a pillow under her left knee before throwing the blanket over her. She'd taken her pills after she'd gone to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, so she was feeling real 'laxed right now—and once she got over the fear of Robb's bed collapsing under her, it wasn't too bad.

"Night, Robb." She murmured.

"Goodnight, Ar." He turned the light off and left the door open a crack.

She closed her eyes and snuggled down— _way_ better than the exam table they made her sleep on the night before. Though she missed Jon, it wasn't that bad of a day.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> The Beyond = The Beyond is a area that is as controlled as the military could make. It was 300 miles in length, 150 miles in width; the area just after the Wall's northern side and the area before the start of the Land of Always Winter. Fenced off, and complete with hundreds of hidden cameras to monitor the recruits' drills. The land consisted of a small mountain rang called the Frost Fangs, on the farthest upper West side; dense forest called the Haunted Forest, chocked with fog, laying on the length along the Wall; and covering the northern east of the Beyond was a cold, windy tundra covered in snow and ice; a river that ran through the middle, branching off into the West and East and lay frozen over in the tundra but not the forest. Of course, there were wild animals that still roamed, like mountain cats in the Frost Fangs, moose and the like in the Haunted Forest, and polar bears and mammoths in the snow tundra—controlled as it could be, it was still dangerous.  
>  _~First-years study the Beyond, but it's not until cadets become second-years that they start doing [survival] training in the Beyond._ **[ARYA IS THE EXCEPTION TO THIS RULE BECAUSE THOUGH SHE HAD ONLY COMPLETED HALF THE FIRST-YEAR TRAINING, SHE WAS FAST TRACKED TO THE THIRD-YEARS]**
> 
> **Crow** = The Night's Watch special ground forces stationed out of Castle Black, drilled as third-years by Drill Sergeant Alliser Thorne, trained as Crow by another Crow (i.e. Karl Tanner or Qhorin Halfhand), but commanded by Colonel Benjen Stark and Lord Commander Joer Mormont.
> 
>  
> 
> Stark Notes:  
>  _~Sansa is attending modeling school._  
>  ~Robb still lives at home, it's just easier that way while he finishes getting his business degree. The girlfriend that was mentioned in NWHS: TW(M)A chapter 14, they've broken up since then. He usually calls his youngest sister "Ar".  
> ~Bran can be an even better climber than Arya.
> 
> !~*~ !
> 
> **The Beyond recap with the bear, taken from NWHS: tW(M)A chapter 14**
> 
> !~*~!
> 
> _"Thorne dropped us in the tundra, right up north against the fence—that's 150 miles from the Wall—so we start heading in the other direction of it and couple hours later a blizzard blows through. It's freezing, we're blinded, disoriented—we've got to find shelter before this storm kills us, but the only thing out on the tundra is snow. We tried making a makeshift igloo, but the winds and texture of the snow ain't in our favour—but if we can find something natural made; something like a rock, or splintered ice…_  
>  "By chance, pure luck, we come across a snowdrift that could afford us some shelter from these awesome wind. We hunker down next to it and it's holding against these winds that are going at least 60 mph, but something about the drift is a little odd. As the gale is slowly eating away it, we find that it's not just a normal drift... some white bear died right there, and the snow built up and around it, cocooning it from the whether and other animals that would make a meal out of it. The storms killing us, we can't handle it much longer out in the open, even with all our winter gear...  
> "Freezing, right next to each other we can barely see a thing, let along discuss our options—he's got the pack and takes it off and pulls out the machete and I instantly know what he mean's to do. The only way we can survive this blizzard is if we cut our way into the bear and take shelter.  
> This bear is a beast to behold, it's huge! and could easily pit the pair of us. Before the corpse could completely freeze rock solid through, the snow drift that accumulated over it created a natural heating barrier. Jon thrusts the machete into its stomach and jerks! The blood is like sludge, thick a congealed, but there still a warmth to it. He opens it up wide, and we got to pull out its guts to make room for ourselves, until finally we crawl inside. The cold took away the smell of it on the outside, but inside, it's a different story completely. Covered in this beasts insides, its like rotting flesh and meat, the smell makes us choke and gag, but it's not unlike the smell of the belly crawl in Hell's Lane. Being in that corpse, there was a fine line between us surviving the cold from outside, and the vapour from the corpse suffocating us from hours buried inside it—the only air coming from the slit we cut to get inside." 
> 
> **Thanks for Reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

She started awake, groaning, covered in a layer of sweat. Her pain pills must've worn off sometime during the night, because the pain of her injuries in the waking world had leaked into her dream one and altered her dreams. Usually, when she was having a dream and in that dream she fell—as with happened with everyone—she would awake before landing. She dreamed she was falling from the wall again, but instead of waking up just before she touched-down with her face, she would end up on the top of the wall all over again and it would start all over.

The discomfort from her writhing in her sleep must've finally woken her up. She wiped the sweat beaded on her forehead with the back of her lightly trembling left hand and clenched her fist, breathing deeply until it stopped. She threw the thick blanket off her and felt some of the discomfort leave her.

It wasn't the first time that she had a nightmare. She had a recurring one from when her and Jon had just become partners and went on their first drill in the Beyond. She dreamed she was back in the weirwood grove again, and was trapped in the ring of trees being stalked by the glowing blue eyes. The old brooding face that was carved in the bone white of the heart tree with tears that looked the colour of old blood, would become animated, demanded that Arya feed it in the Old Language. She would refuse, and then those crooked branches would reach down with leaves like bloody hands and they wrapped around her and Jon both, who were helpless as they were stuffed into the old heart tree's dark, hollow maw and consumed. That was about the time that she would always come awake.

She never told Jon about it before, until he caught her one night in the cusp of it and awoken her. When she finished telling him her dream, he had looked at her silently, unsure what to say—so he said nothing—instead, he mussed her already bed head, murmured his affection for her, and gave her a hug.

She glanced over at the clock in the dimness. It was only 0400. It was too early to be getting up and making a ruckus, waking everyone in the house. So she stayed in her brother’s unstable bed in aching pain, her left knee throbbing like a hot heart beat, her right shoulder aching, the cast hard and heavy on her ribs.

She closed her eyes again, putting herself in complete darkness, wondering what time would be appropriate to actually be up by. Ned usually woke up at around 0600 and Catelyn wouldn't be far behind. Bran wouldn't need to get up because high school was finished for the APA event, Rickon was finished for the summer too, she thought, but knew that Robb and Sansa still had classes, though she was clueless to their current schedules. 0700 it was then.

When she next opened her eyes again and looked at the clock, it was almost 0830. She moaned, feeling like complete shit, and wondered how hell she fell back into that shitty bit of sleep because even though she didn't dream again, she didn't feel anymore rested than before—if anything—worse.

She groaned as she twisted in the bed and sat up. She took a deep breath before she used the her crutch to pull herself to her foot. It was straining, she even put some weight on her left leg while doing so, and nearly fell right back onto the bed as a flash of pain shot right through her knee.

She bit her lip and hobbled wearily out into the hall. She was almost to the bathroom when her mother caught her.

"Oh, dear! How are you feeling this morning?" Catelyn asked.

"I'm alright, mum." Arya told her. "I was just going to have a shower before I came downstairs."

"I hope you weren’t planning on going in like that," she said.

"What do you mean?" she shot the woman furrowed brows.

"You can't get your cast wet," she admonished her.

"Oh," she hadn't even thought of that.

"Go wait in the bathroom and I'll be right back."

Arys didn't even have time to protest before her mother was already half-way down the stairs, and had not other choice than to wait for her mother in the bathroom. While she waited, she took a pill from the bottle that she had stored in the medicine cabinet and her other pills too.

When her mother returned, she had two black garbage bags and tape in her hand. Arya was silent as the woman put one bag over her broken arm, and the around her swollen knee to keep the cast and bandage dry. She waited for her mother to leave, but the woman didn't and that was when the teen realized that she intended to stay.

"Mum—" Arya started to protest.

"Arya, no arguing. You need help, at least this once."

She pursed her lips into a firm line. Gods, why? It turned out that Arya _did_ need help, much to her own annoyance. Catelyn helped her with her clothes, helped her over the edge of the tub, and helped her clean what she couldn't get with her left hand, and kept her steady on her single leg. The girl wasn't sure what was more embarrassing, her mother bathing her, or shower next to Ygritte.

When it was done, Catelyn helped her out, helped her dry, and then left her daughter alone. She wrapped the towel around herself, and crutched out into the hall.

"You look ridiculous!" Sansa laughed, seeing her as she came from her room, looking as pretty and put-together like a supermodel or something. Which she claimed she was going to be someday soon. Arya believed her too. She was 5'9", with bright red flowing hair that reached the center of her back that had a natural light wave to it. Her skin was smooth, unblemished, and like china. She was slim, curvy, and had breasts. Her eyes were a bright clear blue that wanted to drown you. She had sculpted brows, defined cheekbones, a nose that fit her face and pink full lips.

Arya felt her lips twist, getting that same stupid jealous feeing inside her as she always tended to get with showering the same time as Ygritte, despite having a year to get over it—it never seemed to completely go away. Though Chett had learned his lesson about talking about crap and Jon and their broken partnership—via her breaking his nose, and would have done more if Gendry hadn't pulled her off when he did—he wasn't afraid to sneak in a reference about Ygritte [because she had learned her lesson too, Benjen threatened her that if something like that first incident repeated itself, she would be lucky if he _just_ put her permanently on Slop Duty, and didn't slap her with a dishonourable discharge. That had straightened the young corporal right out and there had been no further misconduct on her behalf].

She ignored her sister as she continued to make her way to Robb's room with a towel wrapped around her torso, a garbage bag around her right arm and hand to her elbow, and another tapped around her left knee. She had her crutch tucked under her arm, the towel kept slipping every time she used it. She didn't remember the journey to the bathroom being this long and exhausting (but it became especially so with her sister's mocking laughter following after her like a bad smell).

She closed Robb's door behind her, and tore off the bag from her arm and around her knee, and changed back into the shorts, but instead of the huge tee that would weigh her down, she slipped on a white tank top. Sansa was gone when she came back to the hall, hopefully she would be for the rest of the day, and made her way slowly down the stairs.

She sat next to Robb on the couch in the living room after coming down, fresh from the shower. Though it was Monday, he didn't have any classes until the afternoon.

He laid his arm long the back of the couch and caught a colourful glimpse of the exposed flesh at the back of her shoulders and neck. "Whoa, nice bruises, Ar! You look just like an experimental art project."

"I could say the same about that mini-fro you're sporting." She deadpanned to him in turn.

"I do not!" he protested, his hands going up to feel his russet-coloured, short, naturally tight-curled locks. She snickered at his reaction. "You're so lucky you're injured right now!" he fumed at her.

She gave him a shark grin. "I can probably still take ya if you wanna try."

"There will be no fighting in this house!" Catelyn told the pair firmly, popping her head in the living at hearing the tail-end of their conversation. "Now be nice to each other and watch your game."

"Yes, mum." They chimed together, and she gave them a stern look before departing. The looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. "Everytime!" she laughed.

"Robb, if you don't stop laying around and get ready, you're going to be late for you classes!" Catelyn called back.

Arya laughed even harder as Robb turned embarrassed about being treated like a thirteen-year-old instead of a twenty-year-old adult. He growled at her as he got up, and she stuck her tongue out at his back as he left. She guessed that was what happened when you stayed to live a home, and no matter how old you got, mum was going to treat you just like her little baby.

She changed the channel, and few minutes later, Catelyn came back carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, plain crackers and some water.

"Thanks," she murmured as her mother pecked her head before leaving her alone. She wasn't going to complain that she didn't need soup because she wasn't sick, she was injured, but started to eat it almost immediately. Her stomach was hollow and she was hungry.

She crushed some of the crackers in the bowl when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She looked and spotted Bran lingering in the entry way.

"Bran?" she wondered with a cocked brow. "What's up?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she joked, "but you can as another if you want."

He slowly came into the room, and she took a few bites of her soup as he settled in the spot that Robb had vacated. She never seen her little brother this nervous before, and wondered what kind of question he could want to ask her.

He took a deep breath and looked at her, he was the only one of the Stark children that had brown eyes; Robb had dark blue eyes, Sansa had bright blue eyes, she had grey eyes, and Rickon dark honey, Bran's were dark brown, like bark. "I want to join the Wall!" he told her; this wasn't his question, but he had to tell her first.

Arya sputtered in surprise, the spoon at her lips, slopping some of the soup. She coughed a little to clear her throat as she looked at her brother, putting the spoon in her bowl and wiping her chin with her palm. "You want to join the Wall?" she needed to be sure before they went any further. She had always seen his interest in the Wall, but that had been just for Benjen's stories, she didn't think that he was _that_ interested in it. She guessed a lot _had_ changed in the year the she was absent since her last visit.

He nodded his head firmly. "I do."

"I didn't think that you wanted to join before, what changed your mind?"

"Well... Robb told me the story about you and the dead bear—" he started.

"Oh, he did, did he?"

He nodded. "That's okay, isn't it?"

Arya sighed. "I guess—as long as you never tell mother."

"I won't! I promise!" he crossed his heart.

She nodded. "Go on,"

"He told me the story," he continued, twisted on the cushion to face her, his bare foot planted on the frame of the front of the couch, his knobby knee drawn up to his chest. "I thought that it was really cool and interesting how you and your friend knew about that survival trick. It was a week later that I found box with all the stuff on the Wall that uncle Benjen always brought for you—I hope that's okay?"—she nodded—"and I wanted to learn that sort of thing too. To be able to do that sort of thing myself, and for others—I want to be able to protect home like you do!"

"You thought a lot about this, haven't you?" she murmured.

He nodded his head seriously. "I have, I've been thinking about it all year. I haven't told anybody—and mum can't find out about it yet, otherwise she'd never let me do it."

"I understand," she felt proud of her little brother. "So what was it that you really wanted to ask me?" going back to the start of things.

"Right." He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you could train me for the course next week?"

"If you had gotten to me a few days ago, I might've been able to." She said dryly, reminded how shitty it was right now. It had been just two days since she got injured and she missed running and drills and marching at obscene hours in the night, of being hunted down by Tanner even. She gave an internal sigh and then brushed the feelings aside; it wasn't about her, it was about helping Bran.

His cheeks turned hot in embarrassment at her comment. "I'm sorry! I—"

"It's fine, Bran!" she chuckled lightly to show him that she didn't much care. "I might not be able to help you in _that_ way, but I can give you training tips and pointers on the course—would that be okay?"

"Please!" He nodded his head rapidly, his dark straight brown locks (that were longer than her own) shaking with the movement. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he smiled at her, his dark brown eyes bright.

She smiled after him as he practically skipped from the room, happy to be able to help her little brother out, as small as it was. She went back to her soup, not caring that it was stone cold now, or all mushy. She was still hungry and now satisfied.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Finally, some face-time with Bran!**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **The Weirwood or Heart Tree** = The heart tree is a sacred growth and thing of worship of the Old Gods of the Forest. Long ago, when the Andals landed on Westeros and implemented their religion of the Seven, they tore out and desecrated most of the weirwood trees of worship. Few survived, all in the North. Now, in this present day, they are mostly depicted in history books and in museums. The Beyond is the sight of one of the last heart trees.
> 
> Glowing Blue Eyes = These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the groove of the weir wood/heart tree.
> 
> Slop Duty = Can be another form of punishment for recruits, it's the even more gruelling task of cleaning the kitchen and dishes after a meal. Washing hundreds of dishes, pots, pans, silverware, and taking out the remains, and then taking the veggie peelings all the way to the Garden and Greenhouse to use as compost.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~Could Arya’s consistent dreams of falling, with the focus of the wall, Bran and being helpless to do nothing, a sign of things to come? or are they just caused by the pain meds?  
>  ~Arya has another dream that has occurred on different occasions in the last year-and-a-half about the glowing blue eyes that she saw on a shadowed beast her first time in the Beyond with Jon as they camped in the weirwood grove. [this occurred in NWHS: tW(M)A chapter 9]  
> ~Robb: 5'11", Sansa: 5'9", Arya: 5'0", Bran: 5'8", Ned: 5'11", Catelyn: 5'5". [these facts are true... I found them on the internet.](*Snicker*){I am being for serious!}_


	5. Chapter 5

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

Over the next week Arya continued to give Bran pointers and tips, and sat out back and watched as he 'trained'. He was fifteen-years-old and already 5'8", and inch shorter than Sansa, and 8" taller than herself, and she knew he would continue to grow probably as tall as Robb and father at 5'11"; Rickon was only twelve, and already he was almost as tall as Arya, and he hadn't even had his growth-spurt yet (soon, she would be the shortest person in the family—but she never let something as stupid as that hold her back).

He would lap the yard, running, getting his body ready for the 2 mile run at the end. He would do chin-ups from the rod in his closet, push-ups, sit-ups, squats to strengthen his legs. Sometimes Rickon joined in a bit for fun, dad and Robb easily discovered why Bran was being so serious, but neither of them was willing to be the one to point it out to Catelyn.

And all through that same week, every time Arya went to bed, she had that same dream of falling off the wall, but one key point had changed. She was no longer alone. On the wall next to her stood her little brother. Bran fell instead of her. She tried to stop it, to save him , catch him before he fell, but he always slipped between her fingers. She'd wake up, her pain killers having worn off, feeling unrested and anxious. It was starting to get worse than the dream she sometimes had with the heart tree and glowing blue eyes. But she shook off the feeling—it was _just_ a dream.

They found out that Bran wouldn't be doing the course until the second day, but he wanted to go the first day, to check it out before he went the next day. Robb didn't have classes, so he took the pair to the Stadium.

The Stadium was no different from when she had last been here two-years before. It still had the same spectator-sport feeling, like this course didn't determine what could be the rest of these kids' lives. They claimed seats in the fifteenth row, the closest they could get to the ground at such short notice for a better view and because of Arya's injuries.

It was early in the morning, the sun just starting to shine at its full potential. The bleachers were packed with bodies, loud and animated as they talked amongst themselves as the first group of first-timers were corralled and placed, the Stadium staff positioning themselves around the course. The program was the same but for the fact that girls were now allowed to participate, but the difference between the boys and the girls was the fact that the girls' participation was optional and the boys' was not. A group of girls would run at the end of each day, given the harder challenge of running the course when the moon was out and the floodlights were on.

She supposed it was to see if girls could really hack-it. Even in the dark, Arya would have beat them all out, but in her condition now, a five-year-old could cream her. Robb and her, both of whom had run the course, gave Bran pointers on what and what not to do, pointing out the major faults in the other boys' run.

They only stayed for a few hours, they were lucky that Catelyn let either her or Bran out of the house, let alone together—but to be fair, they hadn't given the woman much fore-warning. Robb dropped them back at the house and went off to his classes, and mum had tried to be scolding, but was much to worried about her babies to go about it effectively. It didn't matter to her that they were 17 and 15, considered adults in this time and age.

—

There was a nervous energy in the house since the night before, and it had amped up come this morning, the day that Bran was to run the course. Most of it was Catelyn, she always got this way whenever Robb was to run—like she expected the worst to happen. Arya never felt that way, until today. She'd had the nightmare again, Bran falling from the wall. It had been the worst one yet; she had fought so hard in her dream to try and save her little brother, that it manifested in the real world—she'd hardly been able to hold it in until she made it to the bathroom and puked her guts out. She couldn't tell if it was from the pain, or the bad feeling that the dream had given her.

They drove to the Stadium that morning as a family, silence filling the van. This day felt like a bad one. Yesterday, there hadn't been a cloud in the sky, the sun beat hot and hard down on them; but today, the sky was grey and the sun was shrouded in plump clouds that promised rain. Arya wished that they would cancel the event for the day, but even with shit-for-whether the officials never did because it added more 'entertainment' for the masses.

When they got to the Stadium, the parking lot was already packed, and they got a spot half-way to the edge of the lot.

Bran was dressed in North Winter High's gym uniform: dark navy athletic shorts, a grey t-shirt with the school name on the left breast and the howling wolf mascot filling the back, he wore his own runners from home. He allowed Catelyn to smother him in kisses until Ned had to step in and pull her away.

She took his wrist before the teen could leave and join the other students as the rest of their family claimed a spot on the quickly filling bleachers. She gave him her sweatband, the same one she had used to run two-years back for good luck. It would help keep the sweat and his long bangs from getting into his eyes, that last thing the boy needed was to become half-blinded in the middle of the course.

"You're going to do great, Bran." She ruffled his hair in much the same manor that Jon did hers. "You're a Stark, and Starks rule this place."

"Thanks, Arya!" he gave her a huge grin, and jogged off to join the other participants."

As she climbed the bleacher steps and sat with the rest of her family, she sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods, her iron coin and heart tree pendant pressed to her lips, to see her little brother safe through the course and get his wish to come to the Wall like her.

" _Hello everybody, and here we are at the second day of our yearly event!"_ the announcer called over the PA system was hooked up all around the entire Stadium. _"It looks like today's weather has taken a turn from its sunny appearance yesterday, and wants to have a little fun with our runners today. Let's hope it holds out!"_

Bran was fifteen, so he was in the first class to run for the day, grouped with four other boys from the same year (who were big a beefy compared to the teen, who was skinny like a stick), his group was 7th in the line up. It would be about 4-hours yet before it was his turn to run.

Arya watched as the as the Official at the start blew his whistle, sharp as she remembered, and the first group of boys for the day started their run. She watched set after set run, all the while remembering the excitement and determination she felt when she had gone—and knew Bran was feeling the same—the emotions growing stronger and stronger the closer his turn came.

The fifth group started off as the Official blew his whistle, and she turned her gaze from the course, to the remaining boys lined up. Bran started stretching and warming up, just like Arya had told him too—getting himself limber for his run, getting rid of any nervous energy that was running through him. It wouldn't be long now.

" _It seems, folks, that our boys' luck had held up nice until right now."_ the announcer said as fat drops of rain started falling from the bulging clouds overhead. " _But rain or shine, the event must go on!"_

Arya felt herself fill with dread as the drops fell faster and faster, the crowds muttering and cursing the luck as some had been smart enough to bring umbrellas and others hadn't. Despite the noise, she heard Catelyn whimper on the other side of her father who sat on her right, the stairs to the left. The teen knew it wasn't because she was getting wet, but because by the time the Bran's turn was up, the course would be drenched in rain—the equipment slick, the ground wet mud. This was even worse than running the course at night in the spotlights, it was the most dangerous time, like Death had come personally for the coming show.

This time, she sent out a more fevered prayer to the Old Gods as Bran stepped up to the line, soaked to the bone from the rain, his long, dark hair pasted to his skull, even from the 12th row, she could see him shivering just like the rest of them.

The sound of the whistle being blown hardly reached her ears for the sound of the pounding rain, and she squinted through the screen of water as Bran started for the tires, moving to the edge of the bench despite having to bend her injured knee, making it throb and hot as she shivered in the rain along with everyone else.

He was third in his set as he reached the twenty-tires and ran through them as fast as he might with the centers half-way filled with muddy-rain-water, and crowded by the other big boys. But he made it through without a slip.

Boys from as early as the 4th set were still on the course, and Arya knew that her brother would beat them out in the end. She held her breath, butterflies in her stomach as Bran came to the wall, so similar to the wall she dreamed about all week.

The boys reached it at the same, struggling to be the first to climb it. They all strained to pull themselves up, for their feet to gain purchase on the rope or the wall. But Bran had always been good at climbing, climbing all sorts of things since he was able to crawl; trees, fences, jungle gyms, all of it, and he got his hands on the top edge first and started to pull himself up as another of the boys got to the top right next to him.

Arya couldn't be too sure what she saw next; the sky was dark and they had turned on the floodlights, but it was still hard to see for the light reflecting off all the rain drops that acted like curtains. Bran got up on the edge, the other boy right next to him, and then Bran just wasn't there anymore.

Arya heard gasp and cries from the crowd, heard her mother screaming, and Sansa too, and she might have screamed herself. It was like her dream coming true as Bran twisted around, trying to save himself, but the wall was just out of reach, and then hit the ground, laying there, still, on his back.

The whole Stark family almost moved as one, Ned and Robb flew from the bench and down the stairs, Catelyn not far behind, Rickon was confused and didn't know what was happening, and Sansa couldn’t seem to move. Arya followed, but she couldn't seem to get her stiff, cold, injured body to move like she wanted it to as Ned, Robb, and Catelyn hit the field as the medics rushed to Bran, the event still going as the announcer broadcasted about the teen’s fall, the other boys continued their course, not even bothering to stop.

It was sick.

The sound of the rain was deafening as it pounded on the tops of the erect umbrellas, the hard ground now turned soft and treacherous, hitting the exposed wood of the bleachers.

Arya was three-quarters down the stairs, the painted wood slick under her shoes, her knee not moving how she wanted it, her crutch jerking this way and that. She hit the step, her left knee taking weight that it wasn't supposed to, nor ready for, and gave out beneath her. She met the stairs through sheets of rain. She gave a cry of surprise and tried to roll with it, her right arm was stuck in the sling, her knee wouldn't bend properly, and she got tangled with her crutch.

She hit the muddy ground, not quiet sure what to feel with the adrenaline of fear running through her body, and the pain pill she had taken not to long ago. She dragged herself up, using the crutch—she had to get to Bran.

They were crowded around him. The medic put a collar around his neck and in the calmer part of her brain, she knew that meant spinal injury. They transferred him to a stiff board, strapped him in, and started to carry him off, Ned and Catelyn following right along side. The rain had pounded away at the ground, unburying the top half of a larger rock, and that was right where Bran had landed, half obscured by the water.

Arya tried to go after them, but Robb ran back to her at Ned’s shout , pale like a ghost, his ruddy hair lank and pasted to his own skull, grabbed her, and started to drag her along. She tried to keep up with him, but wasn't fast enough.

"Move! We have to go!" He growled in frustration, and though the rain obscured it, she knew there were tears in the wetness that dripped from his cheeks and soaked into his beard. He grabbed her up from the ground, practically carrying the small teen as he collected the upset Sansa and Rickon who finally found their way from the bleachers, made a dead run through the parking lot. He threw them into the van, jumping into the driver's seat, and peeling from the lot in the slick rain to follow the ambulance they had put Bran into that always waited on-sight in case something like this happened, with Ned and Catelyn riding along to the hospital.

The headlights of the van cut through the sheets of rain. The ride to Winterfell General Hospital was with a heavy silence filled with fear and the unknown. None of the siblings said a word as Robb navigated through traffic on the slick roads, following after the flashing lights of the ambulance that ferried their injured brother, mother and father.

It felt like one of the longest rides in Arya's life, hearing the hiss off the van's wheels cutting through the water on the roads, the sound of the rain tapping against the windshield, the hard-working windshield wipers clearing the glass only to have it be covered in water seconds later, the sound of Robb's harsh breathing as he drove, Sansa's whimpering, and Rickon's sniffling—the ringing in her ears, the hard pounding of her heart, the churning in her stomach that threatened to come northward.

They were all jarred as Robb pulled into the hospital parking lot out front, finding the speed bump at the entrance, forcing the young man to slow down.

His knuckles where white-tight where they griped the steering wheel as he leaned forward in his seat to peer out the windshield and look for a free spot. A drip of water collected on the tip of his nose until its volume became to burdensome to cling there and it dripped onto the center of the wheel, and moments later another one collect and dripped again. He was gritting his teeth in frustration, not able to find an open spot fast enough. They didn't have time for such stupid things!

"T-here." Arya didn't even realize that she had spoken, her lips feeling numb from the cold as she heard Rickon and Sansa's teeth chattering in the backseat. "Right there, Robb!" She jabbed her finger to the right, indicating a spot between an old Nissan and Volkswagen.

His blue-eyes darted from her to the spot, and he pushed the brakes, cranking the wheel. They jerked to a stop in the spot and he put it in park and pulled the keys.

They jumped from the van as fast the could and all holding onto each other, ran for the hospital entrance. Arya ignored the wave of dizziness and wasn't sure if they'd even shut the doors, but she thought they might have because she was sure she heard the beep of the electronic door-lock device going.

The ambulance that they had been following had made it there before them, and was still running at the emergency entrance of the building. It was empty and they ran inside through the automatic doors and then another set before they were actually inside the hospital waiting area.

There was a reception desk immediately to the left of the doors, separated from the rest of the room with a glass partition. The white linoleum floor was crowded with dark-green, foam, plastic-covered chairs. There was a middle-aged woman, and man sitting in the middle of the room around a table piled with old magazines, but that was it.

Ned and Catelyn were nowhere in sight, and the three youngest siblings huddled together, shivering as Robb rushed over to the nurse behind the partition.

"Excuse me?!"

"Yes?" a nurse looked up at him through the window.

"Our brother, he was just brought in a few minutes ago by ambulance, he was with our parents—" Robb rushed to get it all out.

"If he was brought in by ambulance, then he was taken to the emergency room," the woman gestured to a set of closed doors that were marked in red: _ER, Authorized Personel Only._ "You're going to have to wait until either your parents or a doctor comes out with more information."

"But—"

"I'm sorry, sir. Those are the rules. If you'll just have a seat." She had no sympathy, and Robb gritted his teeth in frustration, it was clear that even if he persisted, she wasn't going to change her mind.

Robb went back to his younger siblings, out of the four, three were shivering soaked in ran, and one was also covered in mud. He ushered them to a row of seats that was closest to the ER doors. Robb sat closest to the doors, Rickon next to him, Sansa next to Rickon, and Arya was left on the end.

They didn't know what was happening with their brother, or where their parents were. They were left in the dark, left to wait. Waiting was most hard thing to do in situations like things, but it was the only thing that _could_ be done—for now at least.

They sat in silence, the only noise was the sound of the pounding rain against the panes of glass that lined the wall behind the partition, almost drowning out the noise of the clock on the wall, and the small TV that was hanging up in the corner of the room on the farthest side of the waiting room, forever stuck on the infomercial channel.

Her gaze was slightly blurry, but she couldn't tell if it was just from the rain and mud in her eyes, or something more serious. She was wet, cold, stiff, and numb (like how your fingers get when it's winter and you're playing in the snow, and they start to feel fat and can't really feel them).

She knew she wasn't feeling the full extent of her injuries, both old-renewed and new, but she didn't care about that, what was happening with her brother was more important. Her breath was raspy in her lungs as she slumped in the chair, her eyes half-closed. Her nightmare was coming to her, even as she was awake.

The adrenaline inside of her was falling fast.

"Arya? Arya!?"

The teen jerked her gaze over to her sister. "W-what?" she muttered, her head tilted over on the back of the chair so she could see her older sister, hardly able to support it herself.

"Are you okay? You look like shit,"

"I'm f-fine." She bit out. Of all the times that her sister should be calling her names. What the girl didn't realize was the unfamiliar worried tone in Sansa’s voice. Arya turned from her sister, the strap from her sling cut into the crook of her neck but it was too much energy and pain to try and fix it.

"Robb?" She heard her sister's voice again and tried to ignore it. "Robb?"

"What it is?" he answered after a moment, his voice tight.

"Something's wrong with Arya."

"What do you mean?"

"There's blood—"

"What?!"

"Blood—"

Robb jumped from his chair and rushed over to his littlest sister; he hadn't been paying much attention until he heard the word _blood._ She was slumped in her chair, her chin on her chest, her eyes half-open. Her hair was wet, and tangled, clumpy with mud—along with the rest of her (when did that happen? No one else was covered in mud)—and through the mud on her face, he saw the dark mark at her hairline and the trail of blood mixed into mud down the side of her face.

"Arya—!" he gasped his sister's arm.

"What?!" Arya growled, her eyes snapping open as she jerked from his grasp, pushing him away and lurching up onto her feet. Why were they nagging her instead of thinking of Bran?! She must've left her crutch in the van, she didn't know how she even made it here without it. Her right knee couldn’t even take her weight for a second. The floor was heading straight for her face, and she couldn't seem to stop it, but then it did as Robb caught her slight body in his arms.

"Arya?!"

She moaned, her eyes clouding with darkness as Rickon and Sansa started to call her name, too, as they crowded around her.

The last thing she heard was "Nurse! My sister, she hurt. Help!" as Robb held her against his chest.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **At the end of this chapter, I thought: "what a lovely place to leave all you readers!" *evil grin* "What's Bran's condition?! Why the hell did Arya collapse?!" I am sure you're wondering all these things, and you may find out in the following chapter or chapters, so hang in there still more chapters ahead.**
> 
> **I always find that when I'm writing fics for Game of Thrones, there are always a few things that I seem to have to do in them at some point (when it's called for. 1, cut Arya's hair. 2, injure Bran in some way by a fall and spinally. 3, Sansa has to be the hateful priss. 4, Ned's always the good cop, Catelyn the bad cop. 5, Arya and Jon are super close and connected.  
>  I don't know why, but I'm sure there is always that thing that you have to put in your fics, and these are mine. I know that it's probably repetitive, but I always mix it up!**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **APA Course Participants** = It has been a long standing law that male high school students at the ages of 15-to-18 must participate in the Athletic Proficiency Assessment Course with the exception of being physically challenged, injured, or dead. Two-years ago, females the ages of 15-to-18 were allowed to participate, but unlike the boys, there participation is optional.
> 
> APA Event = This event lasts a complete week, seven days, in July. It takes place rain or shine, from early morning until around 2000-2100 in the evening.   
> _~There hasn't been a death at the Winterfell Stadium in years, or injury of this severity. But apparently, the show must go on!_
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~When Bran was at the top of the wall, with the other beefy-boys right there as well, you could imagine how crowded it must have been. Whether on purpose or not, Bran was elbowed and knocked off the wall. He turned, trying to grab onto the edge of the wall, or one of the ropes leading down from the wall, but was unable and hit the ground on his back.  
>  ~Arya seemed to have injured herself further when she slipped down the stairs at the Stadium, but didn't start to feel anything until the adrenaline rush faded and stopped masking the pain long enough to get to the hospital (a rather convenient place to collapse, don't you think?)_
> 
> **Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

The cold bone-white bark scraped against the bare arches of her feet as she sidled slowly across the fat reaching branch of the heart tree. Her balance was absolute despite its unevenness and having nothing to hold. It wasn’t the height that made her heart tremble, it was what lay beyond that height, at the bottom of the darkness that obscured anything beneath her—and what might happen to her brother Bran if he lost his grip around the bloodied leaves that he clung to—hanging by a stem. She needed to reach him, his calling her name urging her forward faster and faster.

The thick stems that rooted the leaves to the heart tree, his anchor from falling were pulling loose, one-by-one. He cried out, cried for her to catch him, to save him. He didn't want to fall, into that darkness, into whatever lay in that shadow. She dove for him, closing the distance as the last red stem snapped. She reached, clawing for his hands, anything, as he tried to reach back to her, his dark brown eyes wide with fear. She felt something brush her fingertips, his, and she grabbed desperately.

He looked up at her, his mouth open in a scream that never reached her ears. She tried to go after him, but the bloody-hand leaves tangled around her, preventing her from following. She struggled, tearing at them, but it was no use. Beyond him, she saw, as he fell farther and farther from her, what lurked in the shadows. She was helpless as he fell, swallowed by a pool made from a pair of glowing blue eyes.

"Bran!" She cried out, a whimper stealing her voice away.

The darkness cleared from her gaze and she found herself enveloped by a different kind of white. She looked around and found herself surrounded by a few machines, a needle and tube in her left elbow, and a faded, striped curtain pulled around her. This wasn't right, she knew this wasn't right. Bran—her dream wasn't just a dream!

She tried to get out from under the blanket on top of her, and though it was thin, it felt like it weighed a ton. What the fuck was wrong with her?!

She was startled as the curtain snapped back a space, and was filled by her eldest brother with a Styrofoam cup in his hand, the curtain edge clutched in the other. He looked at her in great relief, and then his tired handsome face turned sharp with anger.

She looked at him in confusion. "Wha—"

"How could you be so stupid?!" he snapped at her, the hand holding the cup trembling.

She looked at him in shock, stuck under the blanket. "I—"

"You were _injured_ and didn't _say_ anything!" his dark blue eyes shone with tears that dribbled down his pale cheeks. "You—"

"Robb..." she spoke softly and he stopped. She now knew it was not anger in his expression, but fear. "I'm okay, I promise."

He stepped inside and the curtain fell back into place behind him. He set his cup on the small table beside the bed and stood at the edge, looking down at her. He had stopped crying, but the remain tears trailed down his cheeks and soaked into his dark beard. He took her left hand and squeezed it, and she squeezed it back.

"What happened?" she murmured. "Bran first," she said when he opened his mouth and he nodded. "I want to hear what's happening with Bran first."

He took a deep breath. "The doctors told mum and dad that he has a hairline fracture to his head form the fall, he broke his left hip, and has spinal injury. While you were out they’d took some X-rays and scans and then took him straight off to surgery."

"How long ago was that? How long have I been out?" Arya asked. If Bran was in surgery, then things were serious. But things were better off serious than what the alternative could have been.

Robb looked at his watch. "He went into surgery almost two hours ago,"

"Where's dad and mum and Sansa and Rickon?"

"They're all waiting in the ER for Bran to get out of surgery and updates from the doctors on his condition." He leaned against the edge of the bed, looking drawn. "You've been out for almost three hours."

"Three hours!" she exclaimed. "What the hell happened?"

Robb rubbed his free hand down his face. "You passed-out in the waiting room, so why don't _you tell me_ what hell happened?" he said.

"We were at the Stadium and Bran fell," she swallowed, remembering what she felt in that instant, the fear. "And you and dad and mum went running, and I tried to follow—I slipped on the stairs—I..."

"That was stupid! You should have stayed with Sansa and Rickon," he told her.

"I could just sit there!" she shouted. "Bran fell and I thought—" her voice broke and she couldn't say the rest, _wouldn't_ say the rest, and Robb's angry expression vanished.

"I know," he whispered. "I know you couldn't."

"Oh Gods!" she cried, her confusion and fear overwhelming her for a moment. "How could this happen? Bran _never_ falls. N _ever_!"

"I know," he tried to give her comfort; he was the big brother here, she wasn't. He needed to be strong for his younger siblings, to help them deal with there fear and confusion, instead of drowning in it himself—but it was easier said than done. He loved his brother just as much as they did. "It was just a stupid thing that happened. The rain, all of it. Just a stupid thing that shouldn't of happened but did."

She didn't think that that was any comfort to her, that this was just some accident. How could something like this happen to their little brother be so meaningless? But she knew that there was nothing else that Robb could say to make it better, because nothing would be better until Bran was out of surgery, awake and talking with them again.

She took a deep breath and rapidly blinked away the tears that collected in her eyes, a few tears straying down her cheeks. When she looked back at Robb, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand. The light from the lamp attached to the wall behind her hit his face and for an instant, made it seem like his eyes were glowing. She shuddered as she was reminded of the nightmare she just had.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, his tone soaked with worry.

"Nothing," she told him, shaking the eerie feeling away—it was _just_ a nightmare. "What about what happened to me?" she wondered.

He nodded and sighed, listing off her new injuries like a shopping list—from top to bottom. "Laceration on you hairline, you have some bumps and bruises, you broke a couple fingers on your right hand, and fucked your knee up even worse."

All the other wounds were superficial, what she was truly worried about was her knee. "How bad is it _actually?"_ she glanced at the covered lump under the blanket.

He was silent as he took the corner of the blanket and flipped it over to her other leg, revealing her left knee encased in some sort of metal contraption.

Arya grimaced. "What the hell is it?"

"The doctors said that you dislocated your knee, gave your kneecap a hairline fracture, bruised the tissue deeply, and strained a ligament or two. They wanted to immobilise it so you won't do anymore damage. They were shocked that you were even able to walk on it for as long as you did, and the that it might have been the adrenaline from all that had happened, that held the shock at bay that made you last as long as you did."

"How am I supposed to walk around in this?" she poked at the metal that surrounded the inflamed flesh with her left hand.

"You're not supposed to!" he reminded her. "That's the whole point of this thing, to prevent you from injuring yourself further. If you do, there could be _permanent damage,_ Ar. So you can't fuck around with this, not for anything, got it?"

Her lips compressed into a thin line as she looked at the metal brace that kept her leg immobile. She was trapped here, by her own carelessness while Bran was somewhere else in the hospital, fighting for his life and all else. He couldn't die, wouldn't die—he was a Stark and Starks were tough SOBs.

"Arya?"

"Why are you here, and not waiting with the rest of them for Bran?" she muttered, still staring at the bulk of her left knee even as Robb flipped the blanket back over it to try and draw her attention back to him.

"Arya!" he snapped.

Her eyes silently flickered to his, grey and blue. "You should be waiting for _Bran."_ She told him through her clenched teeth, tears pricking her eye. "Go be with Bran."

"No." He shook his head. "I can be here for Bran by being with you. He would want to make sure that you are alright, Arya, just like you are for him."

Her chin trembled as her big brother looked down at her steadily, and she covered her face with her left hand, her right arm immobile in its cast and sling, her pinkie, ring, and index fingers taped up and held straight in thin metal splints. "It's my fault, I encouraged him!" The tears started to slide hotly down her pale cheeks as she sobbed quietly.

"He's your little brother, and he looks up to you." He murmured, brushing the mussed dark bangs from her lightly damp forehead, and then thumbing the tears away that escaped from beneath her hand. "After I told Bran about that story of yours, he dreamed of the adventure and honour in becoming a Crow, just like you. It was his dream, and no matter what any of us said, it was still going to be his dream—he's stubborn, just like the rest of us. But he knows that we were there for him, even now, he knows. This was no ones fault, Ar, least of all yours."

Arya took a deep breath and palmed the tears from her eyes and looked at her brother. They weren't as close as she was to Jon, who she could tell anything to—her deepest and darkest and receive no criticism—but they were close enough to joke with each other or know when it was time to be serious, they had respect for each other, banded together when the time arouse, were there for each other in times of need; they were family.

This was one of those moments where they needed to be there for each other, to trust each other. And she did. She trusted what he was saying, because even as she felt the guilt, she knew it was a false guilt.

"Go to sleep, Arya. I know it's hard, but you need to rest—to be strong so that when Bran comes out of surgery, you can be there for him. Okay? I won't leave you,"

She took a shuddering breath and nodded before closing her eyes. She wasn't sure if she could go to sleep, but she knew she had to try for Robb and Bran. She needed to be healthy for them, she couldn't take her families thoughts off of Bran because she had injured herself. She wasn't the important one here, Bran was.

—

When next Arya woke, Robb was still where he was when she'd gone under. The first thing she asked, was of Bran.

"He's out of surgery," Robb told her. "The doctors set his hip, and checked out his spine. They repaired what they could of the damage. He's in the ICU with the others right now."

Arya nodded, silent for a moment as she processed what her brother said. "Do they know if he'll be able to... to walk again?" she chocked on the words.

"I don't know," he whispered. "They only said that they wouldn't know anything for sure until Bran woke up and they could do more tests."

"Well, when is he going to wake up?" she demanded in frustration.

Robb shook his head and she didn't like that one bit. "With all the trauma he's been through, the surgery... and his head wound, they just don't know for sure."

"Do they know anything?!" she cried. This was the best hospital in the whole North, just 35 minute ambulance ride from the Stadium. They got to them quick, got him in the OR and operated on him without any complications—so how could they not _know_ when he was going wake up, if he was going to be his old-self again, climbing anything and everything?

"Arya," he murmured, his own frustration hidden in the shadows of his dark blue eyed. He cupped the side of her neck gentle as she sniffed, glaring at the bulge of her metal-braced knee under the blanket. "Bran is a Stark, and Starks are strong, we’re survivors."

Her expression suddenly twisted, to fit her bitter tone it seemed. "Starks! Just like Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna, don't you mean. Well? Where are they?! I don't see them anywhere around here, do you? They died before they even made it out of high school!"

Robb took his hand away, having the feeling that she didn't want the contact right now. She was just venting, he knew, but he reasoned with her anyways—it wouldn't do for either one of them to be this distraught. "That was something completely different than this. Brandon was hit by a truck, and Lyanna was killed in a riot."

"No!" she shook her head rapidly, vehemently, her left hand clenching so hard that her blunted nails bit into the flesh on her palm as she brought over and again on the mattress next to her thigh, sometimes even striking herself but hardly noticed. "It's not different. He's going to die just like they did! _He going to die!!"_

The curtain suddenly tore aside, but Arya hardly noticed until she felt some sharp come in contact with her tear soaked cheek. She sucked in a sharp breath and looked over in shock at her mother, who looked more like a crazed woman than anything else.

"Don't you dare say that again, do you hear me, Arya Lyanna Stark?!" Catelyn shouted, her usually rough voice turning even more gravely. "Don't you ever say such wretched, horrible things about your brother!"

Arya looked at her mother wide-eye as the woman raised her hand again, her blue eyes unrecognizable, as she intended to slap her youngest daughter a second time.

"Mother!" Robb grabbed her wrist before the action could complete. "That was completely unnecessary." He murmured as he took the woman into his arms.

The usually neat woman looked unkempt and frail against his broad chest. She shook, tears silently running their course through old tear tracks; her lightly applied makeup smeared and faded. She took several deep shuddering breaths.

Arya was touching her stinging and reddened cheek with her finger-tips, shocked at what her mother had done, but understanding for what she had voiced in a moment of complete fear. "I didn't mean what I said, momma." She whimpered, she needed to make sure her mother knew, but Catelyn didn't say anything, didn't even look at her daughter as she pulled herself from her eldest son's embrace and left the curtained area.

Robb looked back to his sister. "Arya... You know she didn't—"

"Can you... Can I please be alone?" she chocked on her words, taking her hand from her cheek and looking at him from where their mother had entered and left so abruptly, tear crawling sluggishly down one pale and one red cheek, hanging ever-so briefly from her chin before dripping onto her gown-clad chest.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a jerking nod, his own tears glazing his eyes. "Alright. Okay." He inhaled deeply, looking at her a moment longer, unsure if he should said any more, but knew it would do make no difference. He pulled open the curtain, stepped out and closed it behind him, leaving his sister as alone as she could be in a shared room with other recovering patients.

Arya let out a shuddering breath in her first moment of solitary as the tears brimmed her eyes. She wanted to curls up on her side, and hug her knees to her chest, but knew that action to be impossible so she laid back and threw her left arm over her face and cried into it. Robb was doing the best he could for her, and she loved her brother for it, but she wanted Jon. The older teen always knew what to do, and say, to make everything better again.

She wanted things to go back to the way they used to be just half-a-dozens hours ago, but nothing would never be the same again.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Intense, huh? What do you think about Catelyn’s reaction towards Arya, what might of happened if Robb hadn’t been there, and what about Bran’s condition?**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> **_~ Lyanna died in a riot as a teenager while doing a non-violent protest for women’s rights and equality in the Seven Kingdoms.  
>  ~ Brandon was killed in a hit and run incident outside the bar where he had gone to celebrate the best record in the north and his recruitment to the Wall on his last run of the course._ **


	7. Chapter 7

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

"I'm so happy you're coming home, Arya!" Rickon told her in relief, sitting next to her on the gurney that had been hers constantly for the last four days.

Ned had brought her a change of clothes, and now after four days of no change with Bran, they were releasing her from the hospital. Catelyn hadn't left Bran for a moment longer than necessary, and was allowed a cot next to Bran's bedside in the ICU. And all during that time had she once visited her daughter again.

They all couldn't live in the hospital, so as morning dawned after that first night, Ned had taken his eldest son and daughter, and youngest son back home to eat, shower and sleep. Robb had insisted that he stay with Arya even though the hospital disallowed it, but she had convinced him otherwise—it was better if she was alone.

Ned was able to miss work that first week, using his sick days. Robb missed as many classes as he could, splitting his time between her and Bran before he had to go back or chance failing. After the first three days, Sansa went back to school. There was nothing she could do even if she came to the hospital, but sit at Bran's bedside and give him company with Catelyn. Rickon couldn't be at the hospital all the time, so he usually stayed at home with Sansa.

The doctors had classified Bran's condition as comatose, with no changes. All they could do was monitor his condition, and feed him through a tube shoved down his throat and into his stomach, several IVs in his arms, a heart monitor and brain monitor. They would not be able to say the exact diagnosis of his spinal injury until he woke up and they could do the appropriate tests—the same song every time she asked for an update.

She gave her little brother a small and brief smile. "Me, too, Rickon." She murmured, and scrunching the shaggy red hair on the back head. Rickon leaned on her a little.

"Bran's going to be okay, Arya, isn't he?" Rickon asked in a tone of voice that no twelve-year-old should understand. "Just like you?"

Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and she swallowed. "He's going to be fine, Rick. We're Starks, and Starks are like the winter—we always come back." Gods, she hoped she was right. She hoped to both the Old and New that she wasn't giving her brother false hope.

"You're right!" Rickon nodded his head firmly, his thick red hair bouncing along with the movement as if it agreed as well. He clenched his fist as he looked at her with unwavering dark honey eyes. "We never leave each other behind. He's going to wake up, I know he is!"

"That's right, Bran's going to wake up, don't ever doubt that."

"Here we are," Ned said, appearing at the open curtain with a wheelchair. "All the papers are signed and after visiting with Bran, we'll head home." He looked tired and stressed, his shoulder-length dark ruddy hair tied in a half-pony, but he still found it in himself to give her a warm and loving smile.

"Hi, daddy." She murmured, as Rickon jumped from the bed and Ned helped her move from the bed and settle into the wheelchair. Another few days or so, and her broken fingers would heal, the laceration on her hairline should heal without a scar, her arm in a few more weeks and her knee would take just a long. They had given her a different kind of brace. It reached to her mid-thigh and stopped at mid-calf, it was like a hard plastic that immobilized her leg with lock-knobs on the outside. Her knee was still very inflamed, and bruised, it throbbed and twinged, despite pain-meds, anti-inflammatory meds, all of it—but at least they were getting her out of here. She knew that later, when the doctors deemed it, she was going to have to do physiotherapy to re-strengthen her leg, not to mention the rest of her—either here or at the Wall.

He set her feet in the foot-supports and turned the wheelchair around and pushed her to the ICU and Bran's room. She wondered what it was going to be like. Nothing serious like this had ever happened in her family while she had been alive.

Catelyn turned rigid as Ned wheeled her into the private room with Rickon following behind. She hadn't seen him since the Stadium where she watched the medics carrying him off in the rain to the ambulance, her parents running along-side. He stopped her as close to the bed as he could, and went over to the other side to his wife, placing comforting hands on her shoulders and kissing the crown of her head. Rickon went and hung off the foot of the bed, gazing at his big brother with a calm patience, waiting. Catelyn looked even worse for wear than the last time that Arya had seen her, when her mother had slapped her. She was dishevelled, dark circles under her dull blue eyes, her hair looking brittle and unwashed, and Arya was sure that the only reason that she wasn't wearing the same clothes from four days ago was because Ned had forced her to at least change.

She looked at her little brother. He looked so small and weak in the bed, though Arya knew he was anything but. Though his superior height of 5'8" seemed swallowed by all the machines he was attacked to, the white gown he was wearing under the thin double-blankets, and the bulkiness of the cast they put him in for his broken hip that they had repaired while he was in surgery. If it wasn't for all the wires and such, he might've looked asleep if she didn't know what he did—if she didn't know that he might not ever walk again.

Tear pricks her eyes at the thought of him not climbing, not being taller than her and she took his hand that was laying at his side on top of the blanket, her mother clutching his other one like it was a life-line. The limp limb was cold and unresponsive in her left hand.

"Bran..." she gave a shuddering, gasping breath and Catelyn's gaze sharpened a little at the sound of her son's name. "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I'm sorry that I couldn't of come sooner; the doctors wouldn’t let me out of bed and I knew you'd be angry if I tried to." Her voice was barely a whisper, clutching his hand and looking at his face, waiting and hoping that they would open and knowing it wasn't as easy as that. "I-I'm sorry that this happened, that I couldn't stop it—"

"It's your fault." Catelyn muttered.

"What?" Arya looked at her mother in surprise and Ned looked twice as shocked at his wife's words.

"You! I know what you did! You encouraged him to run the course, trying to steal my baby away from me."

"Rickon, go wait in the hall." Ned had mind enough to say to his youngest.

Rickon hesitated for a brief moment, looking between the three of them, the expression on his mother face scared him, the way she was looking at his sister. His heart hammering in his chest, he rushed from the room and into the hall with rushing doctors and nurses.

"Go! We don't want you here." She spat, clutching Bran's bare, IV pocked arm to her breast, pressing his knobby knuckles to her bare lips.

"Cat!" Ned warned his wife. He'd never seen his wife look like this before, to see suck possessiveness and hate inside of her, hate that was directed towards their own daughter. "That's enough! This is no one's fault."

Arya looked at her mother as tears filled her eyes. Maybe Robb had been _wrong._ If Bran didn't push himself to be the best, he wouldn't have been caught between those other beefy boys on the wall, and he never would have slipped and fallen. "I'm sorry." Her voice broke. Her mother just turned from her, her face transforming as she looked at her son lovingly. "Daddy, can you take me home?"

Ned's expression was tight as he looked down at his wife, before he nodded and wheeled Arya from the room. "Come on, Rickon, we're going home now." Rickon nodded and walked quickly to keep up with his father's longer strides, sending a worried look back at Bran's room. "Arya, sweetheart? You know your mother didn't mean any of that, she's just scared and stressed and worried about your brother, that's all. What happened was an accident, that's all. Things will be better once your brother wakes up."

Arya just silently nodded her head, the tears dribbling silently from her eyes, out of view from her father and little brother.

No need to add to their worry.

—

When they got home, Ned had to carry her up the front steps of the brownstone. The house was still and silent, and Arya knew that Robb and Sansa weren't home. Ned helped her settle comfortably on the couch and gave her a remote, and went into the kitchen to make her something to eat, while Rickon went up to his room.

For the last three days she had nothing to occupy her mind while she was at the hospital, alone for most of the time. And she had been stuck thinking about Bran, and Jon, what was going to happen once she was ready to go back to the Wall—if Bran was awake by then, or if he wasn't—would she still want to go? And now, despite having the TV on and one of the better shows playing, all she could think about was he mother.

They had never been that close, not since Arya was old enough to know what she wanted—which was completely opposite of what her mother wanted. They clashed, left and right, since last the teen could remember. She had thought their relationship might have gotten better, but maybe that was just because they had limited contact with each other these last two-years, which meant less time for something to happen and send them into an argument.

But now, after what happened with Bran... Arya wasn't so sure. When Catelyn had slapped her that first time, and would have a second time if Robb hadn't stopped her, the girl knew that something broke between them. Whatever connection they _did_ have, was gone. In Bran's room, when she laid the blame on Arya, looked at her own daughter with such hatred, she knew that cinched it.

Robb was her first born, her first son. Sansa was her first daughter and the perfect doll. Bran was her second son, her favourite. Rickon would always be her baby. And Arya was nothing but the middle child, she was misunderstood, a spare.

Her and Sansa would never be friends, they hardly talked to each other, could hardly be in the same room with each other for any extended period of time. And the same seemed to be with Catelyn. Arya never had that female connection, not like the connection she had with Ned or Benjen, Jon, even Robb, Bran and Rickon. That was half why she was the way she was. She never tried to let it bother her, but to see her mother look at her with _hate?_ That was something that hadn't happened before. Frustration, disappointment, even annoyance—but never hate, never like that.

Was it because of what she had said? About Bran—she wouldn't allow herself to finish the thought. But that had been her fear talking, nothing else. Her brother might be younger than her, and a sweet dork, but he was strong and determined, he wouldn't let something like this beat him down. That was what she had to keep in mind here. Catelyn, she was sure, was just transferring her anger and fear unto her.

She took a deep breath, and made herself pay attention to the television. She hadn't watched the whole year that she had been at the Wall since her last visit. The small wreck room did have a television, but it was also so crowded in there and too much of a bother just getting there, especially when she had better things to do—like not get shot by Tanner.

It was Saturday, so nothing much was on but re-runs. She found an old episode of _NCIS_ , but quickly changed the channel to some random other channel when she found herself watching as a Marine was struck from behind on the head and fell down a small cliff.

When Ned finally came back to the living room, it was with a bowl of Kraft Dinner with a squirt of ketchup, just as she always had it since she was a kid, and a glass of grape juice.

He sat next to her on the couch where she had her left leg propped up on a pillow and on the coffee table, and as she picked/ate her food, he watched the _News_ silently, a comforting presence next to her after her mother.

She was nearly finished, stabbing the last bits of noodles with the fork before pulling them off with her lips and chewing. He shifted on the couch a bit ago, facing more towards her than the TV, his left arm laying across the back of the couch behind her head. He reached over and tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear, that stayed there but a moment before it sprang free from its forced move, too short and stubborn to stay its place.

She put the empty bowl on the lamp table next to her, and looked over at her father with a questioning look as he gazed back at her with eyes the same colour, giving her a small sad smile. "Daddy?"

"Robb told me what happened between you and your mother at the hospital." He told her softly.

"He shouldn't have done that." She muttered into her lap, not looking at him, wondering what he was going to say next.

He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what he was going to say in these next few minutes, what he was going ask. "I know how hard this is for you, Arya. How much you love and care for you brother, and what I am about to ask of you will be harsh and unfair, will be selfish of me..."

"W-what is it?" she stammered, looking back over at him, nervous about how serious Ned's tone and grey eyes were.

He caressed her cheek gently. "Your mother, she's so helpless like the rest of us to do anything that could help Bran, and she's placed all that anger and frustration and hatred on you, Little Wolf." His voice was gentle, and she leaned into his calloused palm that almost covered the entire side of her face. "I'm asking you to allow your mother to hate you."

"What?" she was shocked, wasn't sure she had heard her father right. He wanted her to...

"Your mother, she is at the end of her rope. The two of you have never had that close-knit relationship like she has with the others. You can see how much it is killing her inside to see one of her children in that kind of condition—especially Bran—she barely eats, hardly sleeps, she wasting away like her son. I don't know when Bran will wake up, we have to face that he never might, and if he does, what condition will he be in? I need you to let your mother hate you, sweetheart, it's the only way for her to focus on something else other than your brother, to take care of herself."

She looked at her father in pain, not physical pain, but with the pain inside of her heart.

"It's your choice, Arya." He murmured.

She looked at him, at the unshed tears that clouded his grey eyes, at the dark shadows under his eyes, the drawn expression at the corners of his mouth and eyes. She didn't understand it, not completely, but Ned wouldn't have asked something like this unless it was important, to make her hurt like this.

She took a deep shuddering breath and nodded her head. "Okay. Okay,"

He pulled her close and she sobbed into his shoulder, her left hand clutching at the material of his snap-button shirt. She would do this, let her mother hate and despise her if it was the only thing she could to help her mother and in turn the rest of her family and Bran. No matter how much it hurt her, how it tore at her heart.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reference: N.C.I.S., season 2, episode 15 - "Caught On Tape"._ **
> 
> **What do you think of Ned’s request? Fucked up, huh?**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ The Starks live in Winterfell City, the capitol of the north and the location of the only Stadium in the north. They live in a two-story brownstone house with their own backyard, adorned with a small deck, oak tree, and garden. It has five-bedrooms upstairs with a single bathroom, a small attic and basement, a kitchen with a space for a kitchen table, a laundry room, and entertainment room that acts as living room and Ned's home office._


	8. Chapter 8

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

Arya spent most of her time on the couch in the living room, in silent misery, watching the TV but not seeing it. Whenever either Ned or Robb went to the hospital, which was everyday for an hour or so at least, to visit with Bran and check up on Catelyn, she would beg to go with them. Most of the time she was denied access, sometimes because they said she needed to stay home and rest and heal, other times it was because her mother couldn't bear to look at her. Other times, they could take her to her check-ups at the Pack Heart Clinic and then take her to Winterfell General where he mother spat her hatred until she exhausted herself and had to sleep on her cot at the corner of Bran's room.

It had been two weeks since she left the hospital, and still there was no change in Bran's condition. He was still in the coma, his prognosis was still uncertain. It was times like these that Arya would visit her brother, when her mother's hate drained her so much that she couldn't sit up any longer.

She would sit in the hard plastic chair that instantly made her back ach, so she would shift to the edge, her braced leg sticking out straight in front of her, half her limb hid from view under the gurney as she leaned against the edge of the mattress and held his cold hand in both of hers.

The fingers on her right hand had healed and were free, and her arm was getting there, no longer needing the sling, but sometimes she used it anyways—but something inside of her little brother was broken.

She ignored the pee and fecal bags that hung on the side of the bed, the lump of the cast hidden under the blanket, the IVs in his skinny arms, the oxygen tubes in his nose, the wires for the heart monitor, the feeding tube—all of it as it tried to swallow the boy whole.

She'd talk to him, about the only thing she knew about, about the thing he had been most excited for before all of this happened, about the Wall. About Jon and there adventures in the Beyond, she knew he would like those like he had liked the one about the bear. About Tanner's determination to shoot her and Gendry every chance he got. Anything she could think of that might make him smile—all the while desperately searching for _Why?_

He was just fifteen, just a kid. He never had a girlfriend. He still had peach fuzz for Gods sake! Why was this happening to her brother? What had he done that drew the negative attention of the Old Gods? He had barely lived, what could he have done? Or was it just some random flip of a coin? Could they truly be that cruel? He had wanted to follow her, to become a Crow at the Wall and defend the Seven Kingdoms, to have honour and pride. But were the Old Gods that desperate to keep him from that life?

She released her heart tree pendant and the iron coin that she had had since she could last remember on the chain around her neck, from the confines of her hoodie. She leaned on her elbows and brought her little brother's hand towards her and making his hand clutch them before holding his loosely folded fingers in both her hands and pressed her forehead onto them. Closing her grey eyes, she prayed to the Old Gods of the Forest to release her brother form this folly, for him to open his soft dark brown eyes again, to have his life back.

A few tears leaked from the corner of her eyes slowly, and dripped from her chin unevenly onto her arms. She'd never cried so much in her life before, not for Nymeria, and not even for losing Jon as her partner.

"Get away from him." A voice croaked from the other side of the room.

It took Arya a second to register it before he raised her head from their clasped hands. Her mother had awoken and was straining to push herself upward on her cot. The teen must have been there for a couple hours at least.

"Mum," her voice cracked at little.

"Get away from him." She repeated, finally succeeding in getting upright. Her eyes were a hollow blue, shadowed by lack of sleep, fired by hatred for the daughter in front of her. She was wasting away, slowly, just as Bran was, slowly. "Don't you touch him."

Arya's grasp tightened on her brother’s hand, the strip of plaster across her palm preventing her from grasping his whole hand. She gazed over them at her mother with sad, tired eyes. She refused to let go.

Catelyn acted as if Arya had kidnapped Bran, drug him up that wall, and tossed him down herself. Like she wanted this for her brother, for him to suffer and be unable to chase his every dream. Like she was the _Grinch_ before he became reformed. Arya did as her father asked of her, to take all her mother's hate—but every time it hurt like a knife through her heart. It never got easier the next time around as she knew it never would.

"He's my brother!" she chocked.

"He is my son!" she snapped, her chest heaving. "This is your fault, all your fault, you wretched child!" She lurched up onto her feet, exhausted, hungry, she swayed but stayed standing.

"But it isn't," Ayra whispered. Why could her mother not see that? Was her fear over Bran and need to blame someone clouding her thoughts that much? "I am not wretched. I am as much your daughter as Bran is your son."

"You have no right to sully his name with your tongue." She started towards the bed, her steps slow and deliberate. Her world was spinning, tipping, toppling, out of control. The ground was falling out beneath her feet. Her son, the sun. That's what he was to her, and because of the girl in front of her, the black hole, holding his hand, he was fading from her. It didn't matter that something faint, small, a shadow, was trying to tell her, insist that it wasn't right, that the girl in front of her, her flesh and blood, was not a black hole but a bright star in the sky. A star next to the sun and four more stars.

"I am your daughter!" she insisted, continuing to hold her brother's hand, refusing to let go, to leave, unable to stand it any longer.

Her mother was going insane with grief, with grief over something that hasn't happened yet. She was the one that was acting like Bran was dying, not the other way around. It was _her_ who was hurting Bran with all her hate and anger, tainting the positive energy that should be around him, to help draw him back towards the waking.

Catelyn gripped the edge of the foot rail with white knuckles, her eyes blinking continuously, fighting the darkness that crept up in the edge of her gaze—trying to fight the black hole _inside herself_ that tried to suck her down, not the one across the bed, not _her daughter._

Arya watched her mother in great concern as she wavered at the foot of the bed, her blue eyes unfocused. "Mum?"

Catelyn strained, opening her mouth, her lips silently working as she tried to speak. "A... A'ya..." Her eyes rolled up and showed nothing but white and she collapsed to the floor.

"Mum!" Arya let go of Bran's hands and lurched to her own feet, hobbling on her braced leg as fast as she could. She dropped to the floor on her right leg, her left stretched straight at her side and she reached for her mother. "Doctor! Nurse! Somebody!" she screamed, grapping her mother's frail shoulders. "Mum?!" she cried, "Please be alright."

—

The doctors had put Catelyn in a hospital bed in Bran's private room. She had collapsed from exhaustion, malnourishment, dehydration, and stress. She was in a hospital gown now, hooked up to an IV that would give her the fluids that her body needed; it had a forced shutdown because of how bad she needed to the rest.

Arya sat her bedside, Bran would be fine alone across the room. It was Catelyn that needed her now. She had called Ned at work from the room phone, and he was on his way to the hospital. She knew he was blaming himself for this, even when he shouldn't. These last couple weeks she hadn't allowed anyone in, hadn't let anyone take care of her, help with the burden. She had driven herself into a temporary coma, that was what the doctor said—all she needed was rest and fluids and in the next day or two would be fine.

Arya held her mother's hand, unlike Bran's it was clammy. She exhaled in a shuddering breath as she watched her mother sleep. The woman looked like she had aged 10-years staying at Bran's bedside, not taking care of herself. She didn't know what she would have done if Catelyn was more seriously ill, the family couldn't take it, Ned would have a heart attack and Gods knew what else. She squeezed her mother's hand tighter.

It was an hour later that Ned finally rushed into the room. He was slightly out of breath, strands of his dark hair loose from the pony. He was in his forties but was still pretty fit despite his desk-job.

"Arya? What happened? How is your mother?" Ned went around to the other side of Catelyn's bed, giving Bran's foot a squeeze on the way before he took his wife's hand in his, brushing his knuckles gently down her drawn cheek.

"All the stress... and not taking care of herself right... not letting _us_ take care of her... it all just added up and her body couldn't take it anymore." She bit the inside of her cheek, carefully watching her father.

He gently lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, holding her hand in one and stroking the back of hers with the fingers of his other. She could see that he was blaming himself; the guilt making him age before her eyes. Not being able to protect his son, not being able to take care of his wife—it all added up in the end.

"Daddy," she whispered.

"Arya... I am so sorry that I put such a horrible burden on you." Ned whispered.

The teen shook her head. "Don't be. I wanted to help. The state mum was in... it was the only thing we could do."

Ned reached across Catelyn towards his daughter and caressed the side of her head, gazing at her with pain and love. He grasped the healed fingers of her right hand where she perched it on the bed to alleviate the burden. "You're a good daughter, Little Wolf. A good person... and your mother and I couldn't have asked for a better daughter. You need to know that. The things that she'd said in the last two weeks, she didn't mean, not one word of it. She loves you and I love, and we are very proud of you."

Arya swallowed the swell of emotion in her throat at her father's words, both embarrassed and proud. "I love you both, too, daddy. I know mum never meant a word of it, I could see it in her eyes before she fainted."

"I'm glad that you were here, Arya. I don't know what could of happened if she fainted and no one was here to call for the doctor."

They sat in silence, in a hand holding circle, waiting for their loved ones to heal again.

—

Arya left her father with her mother a bit, she knew he needed to be alone for a bit, to sit by his wife's bedside, to visit with his son. She stuck both crutches under both of her arm pits and grasped the handles with a palm and fingers, and crutched down the hall to the elevator.

She came to the first floor and easily found her way to the cafeteria. All the Starks knew it's location in regards to Bran's room, they spent enough time visiting it in the past. She got some fruit juice and a snack and got some coffee for Ned in case he wanted it. She stowed the juice bottle in her hoodie pocket, the sweater sagging under the weight, and found a way to use her crutches and carry the coffee without spilling it.

She heard her father talking quietly, soothingly, and wondered if he was talking to mother or Bran or maybe even both of them. She got to the doorway when she heard another voice reply to him and she gasped, dropping the coffee. It hit the floor, its top popping off and slashing black coffee, but stayed upright other wise.

"Arya! Are you okay?" Ned had jumped to his feet at Catelyn beside.

"I'm fine." She looked up and saw her mother. "Mum?" The teen hobbled over the spilt coffee and quickly to her wakeful mother, but she stopped a few feet away hesitant. Had what she seen in her mother's blue eyes, heard in her voice, just a one-time thing?"

"Arya, dear." Catelyn murmured, looking at her with familiar eyes. She started to push herself upright.

"Easy, hon." Ned murmured, a hand on her shoulder. Catelyn laid back down with an exhale. "Arya," her dad looked over at her. "It's okay."

"Mum," she made her way to the bed and leaned her crutches against a free space at the wall, standing with most of her weight on her right leg. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

"My dear daughter," Catelyn took Arya's left hand. "I am so sorry for all the things that I said to you."

"It's fine." She gasped with relief.

Catelyn shook her head. "You did nothing to deserve it. You are just as broken as I am about Bran," her voice broke and she glanced across the room at her son, laying immobile, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Ned soothingly rubbed her shaking shoulder. "The way I treated you was wrong. I cannot forgive myself."

"But _I_ forgive you!" Arya said. "I understand and I forgive you!"

She leaned forward and hugged her mum, and Catelyn hugged her back desperately in relief. She didn't blame her mother for reacting the way she had. She didn't hold it against her father for asking her what he did. Ayra didn't care about any of that, she knew that it wasn't really her mother, it was fear and grief and helplessness.

She was just glad to have her mother back, just wanted her and her brother to be better again

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Finally, the family’s coming back together again. Now we’re all just waiting on Bran, huh?**


	9. Chapter 9

**North Winter High School:**   
**The Athletic Proficiency Assessment Stadium**   
**(Interlude)**

Over the next three weeks, Arya and Catelyn traded shifts sitting with Bran and keeping him company. Catelyn still stayed at the hospital, but she took care of herself this time around. She slept on the cot in the corner, she showered and changed into clothes that Ned would bring her when he visited, and took all her meals in the cafeteria.

There was still no change from Bran.

It was dawning on the time when Arya was to head back to the Wall. She didn't walk with the crutches anymore and the doctor gave her a new brace, this one just for her knee, which was back to size again, if still a little tender. Any day now, they were going to finally cut her free from the cast, all the markings that her three brothers left, faded now—markings that Bran had done a week before all this happened.

And now, while she visited Bran, she was allowed to use the physiotherapy-room in the hospital to work on strengthening her leg, and the brace helped lend extra support. Despite everything, she couldn't help but feel relief to have a timetable again, to be able to work-out, do something with herself other than sit at Bran's bedside and then go home and spend the rest of the night parked in front of the television. She wasn't meant to be a lazy asshole, that just wasn't how she was built. She thrived in the outside world, doing insane things.

—

She felt a flash of nostalgia, wanting to keep the worn and dirty plaster on her arm as she sat on the exam table in the hospital, and the doctor turned on the small, hand-held saw and carefully pressed it to the edge of the cast above her elbow. She was already at the hospital visiting Bran, so instead of going all the way to the Pack Heart Clinic, she just waited for an opening here WGH.

The doc cut the whole length of the cast, the plaster dust flying. He turned the saw off, set it on the counter and waved the dust away to clear the air before he took his safety goggles off. He put his hands on either side, his thumbs at the cut, and pulled.

Arya watched as the man trembled, her arm shaking under the strain, and wondered if he was doing it wrong or something. She was about to say something when the cast came apart in his hands with a loud CRACK! She startled. It sounded just like when she broke her arm from falling off the wall in Craster's Keep. He took the cast away and threw it in the hazardous disposal like it didn't matter, like it didn't have her little brother's mark on it. He snapped some latex gloves on as he came back to her and unwrapped the bandage around her arm that protected the skin from the plaster. Underneath was an ugly sight, and the smell wasn't that pleasant either. She supposed that nearly two months of being encased and unwashed would do that. He removed the small square bandage that was over the tear that her bone had poked through and examined the small healed scar. He wiped her pale and flaky arm down before he examined the limb; pocking and squeezing, cranking her arm this way and that, rotating her wrist and asking her if there was discomfort.

Of course it was uncomfortable with him treating her arm and shit like he was trying to make a balloon animal out of it, but she held her tongue and just shook her head. He gave her a blue squishy ball and told her it was to help strengthen her arm and wrist again gradually and then sent her on her way with a clean bill of health on the matter.

She took her time getting to the elevator, squeezing the blue ball with her palm, and by the time that she got there, her wrist and fingers were aching. She sighed, stowing the ball in her jean pocket, making it bulge comically as she pressed 3. She examined her right arm, the fingers from her left hand feathering across the pale and dry flesh, tracing over the small scar on her arm—just another to add what will be a long list by the end of her days. The crooked "t" on the palm of her right hand barely discernable now.

She exited the elevator as a couple of residents entered, and turned right, making her way back to Bran's room where Ned and Catelyn were keeping him company. It was Sunday, so Ned didn't have work. She wished that she was wearing a long sleeve instead of a t-shirt, but none of the sleeves had been wide enough to accommodate the cast and it would have looked completely stupid.

As she neared the room, she could hear crying. Before all of this, she might not have recognized who it was, but now she knew that it was her mother. She came to a halt just outside the room, out of sight as there was a sharp pain in her chest. Catelyn wouldn't be crying if everything was okay, something happened in the half-hour she was gone. She could hear her father murmuring soothing words and she took a deep shuddering breath.

She came into the room, readying herself to ask, but froze. Bran wasn't there anymore, his bed wasn't there anymore. She felt a wave of dizziness, the breath stuck in her lugs. She took a stumbling step back. Bran wasn't there anymore, Catelyn was crying—Bran wasn't there anymore!

"Arya," Ned saw her waver, pale as a ghost, and released his wife and rushed to his daughter. "Arya!" he grabbed her arms just as her knees had been about to give out beneath her and held her against his chest. "What's wrong?"

"Bran!" She turned into him, burying her face in his chest and started to sob. "Oh Gods, Bran! He's gone."

"Shh, sweetheart." He murmured into her hair, soothingly petting her short locks. "It's okay, it's all right. Bran's fine, Little Wolf. I swear to you, he's just fine."

But she shook her head and continued to sob. "He's gone!"

"He's alive, Arya, and well." Catelyn got up from the cot and came over, gently rubbing her daughter's back soothingly. There was not a note of sadness in her tone, but a truthful happiness. "He's awake, dear, awake."

"What? What do you mean?" She lifted her face from her father's chest and sniffed, looking at both her parents through tear-clogged, confused eyes.

Ned tucked that same piece of hair behind her ear that he had some weeks earlier, but this time around, it stayed where it was put, and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. "Your brother woke up while you were away," he smiled, his expression turning bright and younger in an instant. "He's awake and talking before the doctors came and got him to run some tests, to see if he's all right."

"He—he's awake?" she repeated, a different shock going through her this time around. "He really is? You mean it?"

"He is, Arya." Catelyn cried happily. "Bran's come back to us."

"Oh my Gods!" She cried, this time in joy. A weight upon her shoulders lightened. She wrapped her arms around both her mother and father and let the relief wash through her. Bran was awake, everything was going to be okay again, everything was going to go back to the way it was before all of this happened.

—

Everything wasn't okay, and everything didn't go back to normal.

It was almost three hours before Bran was brought back to the room, and Ned had called Robb with the good news, and it wasn't an hour before he, Sansa, and Rickon arrived at the hospital. Everyone was in high spirits, the worry that had built to a breaking point after these last few weeks was washed away with relief of there brother's final waking.

Finally, Bran was pushed back into the room on his gurney, and they arranged all the wires before the two attending left, but the doctor stayed.

They were all talking at once, asking Bran all the stupid questions until he finally said, "It's going to be okay," with a sad and tired smile, like he was comforting them instead of the other way around.

The doctor allowed them to amass briefly around Bran, greeting him and hugging him, before the doc cleared his throat purposefully to draw their attention. Slowly, but sticking close to their brother and son, gave the doctor their attention.

"Now that Bran has finally awaken, we were able to run the tests that we wanted since after his surgery." The doctor addressed them, his hands clasping Bran's patient chart. "His hip is healing nicely, there is no infection from the incision and stitches and no rejection of the hardware we had to put in his body." Though he occasionally glanced over at Bran, his main address was to Ned and Catelyn, who was being held in her husbands arms as she grasped Bran’s warm hand. "The damage inflicted unto your son's spine was out biggest concern and worry. The falls infliction worsened as it appears he landed on a rock of some kind that dealt damage to his spine directly and in a concentrated area—but at the same time, it can be a blessing in disguise."

"How?" Ned asked, his voice rough as he squeezed his wife's shoulders, gaining contact with Bran through her as she held their son's hand.

 _How could any of this be a blessing_? Arya wanted to spit instead and wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze, but she bit her tongue, her hands clenched at her side, an ache starting in her right wrist at the strain but she ignored it.

"Because the damage was in one area…" And then the doctor went on to talk about damaged L-vertebra, crushed nerves and receptors... all this talk going over every one of their heads.

"Are you saying that he can't walk?" Robb finally demanded, interrupting, wanting a straight answer like the rest of them.

"Though it is _too_ early to be definitive, each of you should come to the terms that Bran might not ever regain use of his legs again." He informed the with compassion, this time, looking at each of them in turn to be sure that they all understood.

"Thank you, doctor." Ned managed to choke out as Catelyn started to sob, broken, just as her sun's dreams. The silence in the room was deafening at the doctor's departure, each trying to come to terms with what they had learned.

Arya looked down at Bran as their mother's body shook with her despair, but she was more concerned with how her brother was handling it—it was _his_ body after all, _his_ life. She watched as the spark of light and life in those soft, dark brown eyes that shone with wonder grew dim and then out.

No, nothing would ever be the same in the Stark family again.

His look was blank, unseeing, unfocused as he stared across the room at something none of them could see. A stray tear escaping from his left eye in a lonely journey down his check and a fall to its death at the collar of his hospital gown. His life just tipped on its side, throwing him to the ground, never to help his rise again.

It was quieter than a funeral in the room, suffocating, crowded with them all in there. Finally, after two hours or so of visiting with Bran, Ned finally put his foot down.

Despite being in a coma for almost two months, he looked tired as all fuck, but they were all hesitant to let him alone, least when they returned next, it was all a dream that he had woken up. But despite these uneasy feelings, there lives would all go on the same, even if Bran's didn't. So they left him to rest and would return the next day and all the days after until their brother and son was released from the hospital and finally came back home; giving the young teen kisses and hugs and murmured farewells and promises to come back, he never uttered a word back.

Arya was the last of her siblings to leave, taking his other hand in hers. It was warm this time, not bone cold like when he had been in the coma. She squeezed it until Bran finally looked from the far-off spot and to her. She didn't say something stupid and meaningless, in fact, she didn't say anything at all. She just reach over to him with her free hand and gently mussed his dark, long and greasy locks—just as Jon had done to her so many times she couldn't even tally them all, just as she had done before he was to run the APA course—conveying all her feelings in that moment to him.

For a second, just an instant, a spark flared in his dark brown eyes, so tired and lost, but she had seen it, felt it, before it was gone again, before the old Bran was gone. She gave his hand one more squeeze before she forced herself to leave with the others.

—

"You seem better," Robb mused, watching her as she finished up a round of push-ups outside back on the small deck. Now that Bran was finally awake from his coma, the mood around the house became less suppressed and more expectant.

"I am," she panted as she rolled onto her back, her face beaded with sweat. His shadow fell across her as he stopped at to crown of her head, peering down at her. "I can do seventy without breaking a sweat—or at least I used to—I got tired at fifty."

"Oh. Well then I guess you're right, fatty. You completely let yourself go. Only fifty? That's disgraceful!" He mocked her, his hands planted on his hips disapprovingly.

She glowered up at him. "It is, _fatty._ " She told him, and 'hupped' to her feet. "In this condition, I'm worse than a first-year cadet! I can't go back to the Wall like this, I've got to build my muscle-tone back up. The past two months, all I've done is laze around."

"I don't think it's called lazing around if you injured." He told her.

"You know what I mean!" she snapped.

He sighed. "Just don't overdue yourself, okay? How would it look if you injured yourself... _again_?" He turned from her and started to head back inside.

As soon as her brother was out of sight, she started doing jumping jacks. Of course she didn't want to re-injure herself, but she couldn't go back to the Wall in the condition that she was in now—Tanner would eat her alive for breakfast.

She remembered the talk she and had had for the brief time that the two of them were alone.

...

She had finally got some alone-time with Bran two days after he finally woke up, Ned finally having convinced Catelyn to come home for a few hours after being in the hospital constantly for nearly two-months—the whole time Bran had been in the coma.

She sat on the edge of his bed. He sat across from her, the top-half of the gurney locked in the up-right position (or as far as Bran could sit up with his hip), the bed-table between them, a game of checkers going on.

In the past, when they got out the draughtboard at home, it wasn't for checkers. Checkers was too easy. Though they were both young, they had broad minds in their own regard, and would bet there allowance to see who would win in a game of strategy—a game of Chess.

But not today, Bran was still exhausted, and the fight wouldn't be fair—neither of their concentration would be in it. Not right now. So checkers it was.

There wasn't much conversation going. What could they possibly talk about? What could be so important after all that's happened?

Arya poked her red piece diagonally to the right, inching towards one of Bran's black pieces, and waited for her brother as she squeezed the small blue ball that the doctor had given her for her right wrist. Though her gaze was directed at the board, she indirectly watched her brother. Slumped back against a couple of pillows, his arms at his sides, his legs forever unmoving.

"Why are you still here?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?" He had hardly spoken a word since they'd been alone, hardly said anything since he woke up. He didn't say anything more and she wondered if she was just hearing things; his dark brown eyes dull, looking at the board but not really seeing it. He reached for towards the board, and move his black piece directly to the right, either not noticing or caring about the illegal move. "What?" she repeated.

His eyes finally flickered to her face. "You're still here," his voice was a whisper.

She nodded in confusion. "Yeah. We're playing checkers, remember?"

"Why?"

"To pass the time, I guess." She looked at her brother in worry. "Are you okay, B—"

"Why." He repeated.

"Bran—" She started to get up, intending to get a doctor, something was obviously wrong.

He interrupted her. "Why are you still here?"

She paused. "I'll go if you want me to," it hurt to say it, to think that he didn't want her visiting, just like when Catelyn was going mad—that hadn't made the experience any less painful.

"Why are you still here?" His voice grew in volume. "Why aren't you at the Wall, why?!" He shouted at her, flipped the board in frustration, startling her as the black and red piece scattered and clattered across the worn linoleum floor.

She sat back on the bed, and looked at her brother as his shoulders heaved; surprised and confused by his sudden out burst. "I haven't gone to the Wall because I want to make sure you're all right." She found herself saying after a moment.

"Well, then you'll be here forever because I'm never going to 'all right'." He snapped at her.

"You're wrong—" she started.

"Don't tell me what I know!" hot tears dribbled from his eyes and trailed across his drawn checks, he still didn't seem to have gained any of the weight that he had lost during the time that he was in the coma. "Don't tell me what I feel!"

"Okay," she said softly.

"You have no idea!"

"Okay,"

"You're sitting here in this fucking hospital when you should be back at the Wall, training and going on missions as a Crow. Why are you still here?" He shoved the bed table away from between them, the checkers board falling to the floor with its scattered pieces. "Why are you still here!"

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, making sure that he could feel it, feel _something_ even if he couldn't his legs. "You're my brother, I love you, I want you to be all right—the Wall doesn't matter right now— _you_ matter."

"But it does!" he told her, his dark brown gaze holding her intensely. "Don't you see? I'll never have that now, only you can."

Tears collected in her eyes and she choked on them. "But you can," she told him desperately. "Maybe one day th—"

" _Maybe._ " He told her vehemently, sniffing. "But you can have it _now_. You can't let go of your dreams now, Arya, just because I lost mine."

"Bran," she sobbed.

"My legs don't work, sis." Now it was him clutching her hand, his tears dribbling to a stop, his voice empty but strong and passionate. "One day, I'll accept it, but I will never forgive either of this if you use it as an excuse. Never."

He didn't sound like he should, a carefree, trouble-making fifteen-year-old; but he wasn't carefree anymore, and how could he make trouble when he couldn't even use his legs? His days at being a normal kid were numbered the instant he decided to be a boy at birth.

Arya wished that it had been her. This shouldn't have happened to Bran. He had never done anything bad in his life, but her on the other hand, had. He shouldn't have to go through this pain and misery, he didn't deserve any of what the Old Gods were handing him— _any_ of it.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I didn't mean to do that, Bran. I swear. I just couldn't go without knowing that you might be all right."

"Go back, Arya." He told her, his voice both firm and gentle. "Go back to Wall and become a Crow. Do what I can't ever do anymore. Maybe one day I’ll understand why this happened to me, but not just now. And write to me, I want you to tell me everything. I want to know, no matter how harsh it is—I want to know what I've missed."

"I will, Bran. I promise," she swore to him and the Old Gods.

...

Bran. That was who she wanted to be the best for. He might never walk again, and if by some miracle he did, he would never be the way he was before—they would never allow him at the Wall. So she was going to do this for both her and him, their dreams intertwined. It was all that she could do for him now.

_-tbc-  
_ **********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not really sure how they actually get casts off in real life. They always use a saw in the movies, but wouldn't it be easier if they just stuck your arm or something with the cast on it, in a sink or bucket filled with water? Wouldn't it come off easy if you just let it soak and soften for a bit? If that's how they really do it, then, right on! But if its some other way, what-the-fuck-ever.**
> 
> **I tried to find the exact damage that Bran sustained in the show/books, but couldn't find a thing on it, so I did some basic research on the spinal cord. The L vertebra/section of the spinal cord with its respective nerve clusters and receptors and such are where all the movement and what-have-you for the legs are connected/attached/placed.**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Bran has finally awoken after about a month in a coma after his fall from the wall in the APA course. The contusion to his skull has healed, his hip is nearly there, but the spinal damage appears to be permanent. The doctors aren't very optimistic, will Bran ever walk again, climb again, or will a wheelchair be his state for the rest of his life?_


	10. Chapter 10

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(Interlude)**

 

It was at the end of the month that the Wall was had a pick-up for her, and during that time, she tried to work herself back into some semblance of the shape she had been in before Tanner shot her off the wall at Craster's Keep. She was still trying to figure out whether the man was teaching her a lesson or _teaching her a lesson_ —and she was still trying to figure out if there was an actually difference between the two.

It was in this same time that it became really busy and crowded around the house. Bran would be coming home soon, about the same time that Arya would be leaving for the Wall, and Ned made sure that the house was ready for the teen's home-coming. He called a number that the doctor had given him that specialized in home care and support for the disabled. A couple of men came to the house with a truck bed full of material and tools and set up ramps, and bars, and such so that the house would be accessible to Bran who would now be in a wheelchair for what was likely going to be the rest of his life—they even put in a track on the stairs with an electrical chair so Bran could easily go up and down the stairs without much trouble. By the time the contractors were done, the check signed, the Starks brownstone was forever transformed.

They had a small Welcome Home party, with all of Bran's favourite things, though it didn't feel much like a party at all, the atmosphere was rather subdued. Bran’s outlook was slightly better now that he was out of the hospital, but not by much—it would be a very long time before things took on the formal semblance of normalcy.

It was a few hours later that Arya got transported back to the Wall. She wasn’t quite yet ready to leave, but she couldn’t be selfish in the matter any longer.

—

When Arya arrived back at the Wall, she had mixed feelings. Glad to be back to her second home, happy that she was going to get to see Jon again after two months, relief that she was finally able to do what Bran had asked of her, not wanting to leave her little brother. She was just another face among the several new ones that had arrived about a month ago after being recruited by a Wandering Crow in their respective Stadiums, one of which should have been Bran.

But she was ordered to see medical, and would have to put those feelings aside for the time being. Mordane gave her a physical, checking that all her injuries were properly healed (even though the doctor back in Winterfell City had given her the all clear), and left her feeling in a violated way that only that old woman could. Apparently she wasn't as fit as she was before she was injured and sent home, but she was cleared for duty and sent off to report in with Benjen.

She headed straight to Castle Black after dressing in her familiar and long missed fatigues. As much as she wanted to go and find Jon, she knew that Benjen would have heard news of what happened with Bran and would be wanting for some assurance that his nephew was going to be alright in the scheme of things.

"Corporal Stark," Officer Jafer Flowers nodded at her as she sat in one of the hard plastic chairs that lined the wall outside of Benjen's office, the ones that made you feel like you were waiting to be called into the Principles office even when you hadn't done anything wrong, and Flowers was the cranky receptionist. "Finally back, I see."

"Yes, sir." She agreed.

He just nodded again and went back to typing on his keyboard. She waited in the silence with her back straight and chin up, her old conditioning coming back to her in an instant—almost like she had never left… almost.

She was starting to wonder how Flowers could just sit out here at that desk all day when he finally stood and gestured her up. She did and came over to him as he knocked on Benjen's door next to his desk. "Sir?"

"Come," Benjen's voice came clear through the door.

Flowers opened the door. "Corporal Stark, sir."

Arya stepped into her uncle's office and Flowers closed the door. "Sir." She saluted him and stood at attention, her heels together, arms straight at her sides.

"At ease," he told her, turning from the set of lancet windows on the south wall behind his desk. "Take a seat, Arya."

She nodded and took a seat at one of the adjacent chairs in front of his desk. He came around the other side of his desk, and moved the second chair so that it was facing her before he sat down. "Your father sent a letter, explaining all that happened with Bran." He squeezed her narrow shoulder and she swallowed. "I heard that he's all right, now?" he questioned.

She took a deep breath, keeping the emotions in check—it wouldn't do to start crying every time it got brought up, but it was difficult not to react. "He woke up from his coma two weeks go," he nodded, "but the doctors don't think he'll ever regain use of his legs." She choked.

The corners of the man's mouth tightened as his eyes flooded with sadness. "Oh, Arya." He murmured in sympathy. "Your brother would have made a great Crow."

Arya nodded, biting her lip and glancing away; what else could he have said but the truth? She looked back at him, her eyes intense. "He really wanted to be here, Uncle Benjen, not because he had nowhere else to go, but because he really wanted to be in service for the Seven Kingdoms—just like you."

"How is he doing? Handling this big change in his life now?"

"It's too early to really tell, but Bran is strong and I know he can find a way." She told him, remembering the conviction in the teen's voice. "I'm not here for just me anymore,"

"I am glad to here that." He took his hand back after giving her one last squeeze. "Arya," he sighed.

She looked at him, recognising the tone of his sigh, knowing that the talk of Bran was over for now, and there was something else that he wanted to tell her, something that she probably wasn't going to like. "What?" she wondered.

He looked back at her and said it straight. "Waters is no longer your partner."

"What?!" She jumped to her feet. "What do you mean? Is he all right?" Her heart pounded, what could of happened to him while she was away?

"He's fine, he's fine." He assured her, standing up as well. "I suppose that he just decided that becoming a Crow wasn't what he really wanted."

She furrowed her brows in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"He came to me personally and told me that he would rather work in the armoury, that being in the field just wasn't a right fit." Benjen explained to her. "And though Waters' skills cannot be denied, I believe that he was right. There’s just something about being a Crow that the boy lacked. "

She gritted her teeth, her hands balled at her sides. "And what of me?" she demanded. This was the second time that this happened, losing a partner. What was she doing wrong? There must be something otherwise it wouldn't have happened this many times in such a short period. "Do I get to have Jon back?" she looked up at him with half a hope, but even before he shook his head she knew it wouldn't be true.

"No. Jon will stay partners with the Wildling woman Ygritte Folk." He told her firmly, going back around to his side of the desk and sitting heavily in his chair.

"So what's going to happen to me?" she turned to face him.

He exhaled, the finger tips of his right hand tapping the hard and worn wood of his desk as he leaned forward against it. "I believe... I will not be assigning you another partner." He told her slowly.

"What?" She blinked at him. "But fourth-years always train in partners!"

This would be her third year training at the Wall. Her first six-months spent training as a first-year with all the girls. Her second six-months that same year spent partnered with Jon with the third-years. Her next year partnered with Gendry as fourth-year, training to become a Crow in the Night's Watch. And this year, though it was her third year here, her second year as a fourth-year, she would still be considered that until she finished training as a Crow and was promoted from Corporal.

"That's true," he agreed readily enough. "But I'll allow it."

She looked at him open-mouthed. "You'll ' _allow it'_?! That's it, that's all you have to say on the matter?"

"It is."

She closed her mouth and watched him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. "You're experimenting again!" she accused suddenly, pointing at him. "We might be family, but that doesn't mean you can treat me like a subject and experiment on me with all your crazy ideas."

He straightened in his chair and gave her a straight look. "You are a soldier under my command and I can treat you how I wish. I pulled you from the middle of first-year training and put you with the third-years; and you came out on top, didn't you? I put you with Tanner and gave you a new partner, and you dealt with that, didn't you? Everything I have done thus far has been a success, hasn't it?"

"Tanner's insane!" she protested, feeling distressed over all of this; it was all happening too fast, she'd just gotten back, her body wasn't ready for all of this!

"Tanner is one of our best, and when your time comes, so will _you_ —and I believe that can only happen if it's under Tanner's tutelage." He said firmly.

Being trained by Tanner was a scary thing with Gendry at her side, but now that she would be alone? She needed to change Benjen's mind before it was too late. "You know what he's called, don't you? The Skull King!"

"Yes, I know. We all have code-names, Arya." He sat back in his chair.

This wasn't working like she hoped it would, but maybe if he heard the stories— "Well, don't you know how he got them?" she challenged.

"They're just war stories," he stopped her before she could even get started. "We all have them. And it's not uncommon for them to be altered and exaggerated as time wears on and they are retold by people who heard them from someone and they from another."

"What he does can barely be called legal. He shot me off a wall for Gods sake!" She hand cut through the air in a gesture of incredulousness. "How can you just ignore _that?_ I could have been killed."

"Anything can kill you at the Wall, this is what you signed up for when you accepted that recruitment." He signed in exasperation at her reaction towards all this. He stood and looked at her intensely. "What do you think you will go through when all of your training is finish and you are put on assignment? Didn't you join the Wall to be in service? The Seven Kingdoms might not be as peaceful as they are right now, Arya. What if a war were to break out now and you were sent out into the field? What would happen? Would your courage take leave of you? Would bullet fever overcome you?"

"Of course not!" She told him firmly. "I am not afraid."

He looked at her for a long moment, "Good," and then sat back down with a satisfied look on his face. "Then you have nothing to worry about with Tanner."

"You tricked me!" she gasped.

"Whatever _the Skull King_ ," he said, "puts you through now, will prepare you for the future—if such a war were to come." The last part came across a bit ominously, but before she could comment, he dismissed her. "Now take leave, corporal, and check-in with your ranking officer. And I think it would be a good idea to try and not get shot off of walls from now on, hm?" he suggested to her helpfully with a hint of humour.

She guessed she had no choice in the matter. She saluted her uncle and left his office. _Do or Die,_ she told herself. Those would be her only options for the rest of her life, until the Old Gods came calling at the end of her days.

—

She left Castle Black and was on her way to the Nightfort to report in to Tanner and begin a different kind of hell, when she knew that would be a bad idea at the moment. It wasn't because of her healthy and appropriate fear of the man, but because she knew that she would just as quickly end up in medical again if she didn't get the distraction of Gendry out of her head. And maybe she had the small hope of running into Jon; she hadn't seen her best-friend for two months and wanted to talk to him dearly.

Instead of heading west adjacent to the Wall building, she headed south into Brandon's Gift and towards the Armoury and weapons supply that lay at the center, west of the Garden and Greenhouse.

It was busy like the kitchen's were, ordered chaos, if that were a thing. The Wall made their own bullets, they would order the materials from outside, and make them by hand in the armoury shop. It looked like a sweatshop, but was far from it. It was noisy like the kitchens too, but didn't smell as good. Despite how crowded it was, she easy found Gendry at his station at the far side of the shop, at the stoves cooking metal for the bullets.

She weaved her way through the hot air and bodies. He wore a thick leather apron and thick sleeve gloves and heavy steal-toed boots and a pair of stained coveralls. He was covered in a layer of sweat and smoke from standing over the hot fires. "Gendry!" When he didn't respond she thought that her voice had gotten lost in all the other noise, but she didn't want to get too close and end up startling him into throwing a thing of molten metal in her face—she liked it just fine the way it was. "Bull!"

He shot a glance over his shoulder and thick dark brows shot up for a moment on his gleaming forehead before he turned back to the stove. "Arya? What're you doin' here? When'd you get back?"

"An hour or so ago," she told him. "Can we go talk for a minute?"

He shook his head. "Can't right now. I'm in the middle of cookin' this metal right now, if I switch off the batch to someone else, they could fuck it up and Major Noye will have my head. I can talk here and now, or later."

Arya groaned, this wasn't the best environment for it, but she had to check-in with Tanner real soon or he'd been shooting her off another wall. "That's fine."

"What'd you want to talk about?" He flicked another glance back at her before turning back to his work, stirring the metallic bubbling liquid.

"Why the fuck did you quit being a Crow and leave me to the Skull King?" She got right to the point. "What did Tanner do to you that was so bad that it scared you off want to work in this place?"

"He didn't _scare_ me away," he snapped at her and then sighed. "I like it here, even if it does look like a sweatshop. I was never even sure that I wanted to a Crow in the first place. I'd always been good with my hands, y’know?"

Arya chewed the inside of her cheek as she glared at the back of his stupid head. "You quit and left me alone with Tanner!"

"That's not what I mean by it, She-Wolf," he told her, "honest."

"Well, that's what happened anyway."

"Haven't you been to see Colonel Stark? he's probably already got another partner lined right up for ya." He moved the pot off the flame and called, "Order up on steel!" and another corporal came up and took the pot away to the next station over.

"I did, and he hasn't." She told him.

"Look, Arya," he licked his lips and for the first time since she got here, looked down at her fully. "I'm glad you're back and everything, and I'm sorry that Stark didn't give you another partner for whatever reason, but this is where I belong, as sure as you belong with the Crows." He went back to the stove and Arya watched him for a long moment before turning and leaving the shop, feeling much the same when she entered.

She wiped the sweat that had collected on her forehead away with the back of her hand as she headed back towards the Nightfort. She wished that she could have talked with Jon; there was so many things that she wanted to get off her chest. These last two months, so many things had changed in her life, and none of them seemed for the good. Things had happened back home that shouldn't of, things that left an impression on her and the rest of her family. Bran's dreams were no longer in reaching distance, and the whole family had altered as a recourse. She had been at the end of her mother's hate for two weeks but it had felt like forever, and though that had gotten all cleared up, she still felt those invisible scars on her heart. And now Gendry was gone and she was left alone with the man that had nearly killed her.

She had the overwhelming urge to see Jon, to see for herself that he was all right. After everything that had happened, she needed to see, to know that her best-friend and blood brother was okay. Anything could have happened while she was on her medical leave that got extended almost an extra month; he could have fallen from the wall in Hell's Lane just as she had fallen from the wall in Craster's Keep and Bran had felled from the wall in the APA course.

It was an irrational feeling. Benjen would have told her if something had happened to Jon, but she couldn't stop it. Her heart pounded heaving in her chest as her anxiety over it rose, unable to stop the imagined injuries that Jon could have acquired while she was back in Winterfell City at being spat at by her own mother; at her little brother's bedside, praying to the Old Gods for his recovery; playing checkers with him instead of chess.

She hadn't even realized it until she came upon the Nightfort, but she had been running and now she stood at the entrance, gasping and out of shape. She went up the stairs as fast as she could, her lungs burning by the time she made it to the landing on the second floor where her former partner's sleep cell was located.

She stopped just short of the closed door, catching her breath. She didn't want to run in with Ygritte, she tried to avoid that woman at all possible costs after their first meeting, but would chance it if it meant that she was lucky enough to run into Jon as well—the person of her irrational anxiety.

She took a deep breath; it wouldn't do to look all freaked out. She took another breath and raised her fist. Do or Die.

"Arya?" his voice held an unsure question.

"Jon!" She gasped, a grin on her face as she spun around. She recovered herself as she looked from him, to the red-haired woman next to him. "I was just looking for you," she said coolly, her hand running over her buttons, smoothing the material. Her narrowed grey gaze flickered briefly to the Wildling turned native, before falling back onto Jon.

"I'll be in, in a minute." Jon told Ygritte, not taking his eyes from Arya again—least she vanish for two months.

Ygritte flicked her cold blue eyes between the two of them, saying nothing before she pushed passed Arya and into their room, shutting the heavy door behind her with what seemed like a rather brisk clank.

"Arya!" he chuckled lightly as he took the teen into his arms, hugging her tight. "I was starting to think that I would never see you again."

She squeezed him tight, her face buried in his shoulder, such relief at seeing him well flooding through her entire body. She never wanted to let go of him, but knew that she must eventually, but he held her a little longer as well before releasing her. She looked up at him as she took a single step back.

"I am happy to see that you have indeed returned back on two legs," he remarked, looking her up and down, checking out for himself.

She smiled briefly at the reminder of what she told him when he saw her off, but was equally reminded of the fact that Bran would _not_ be back on two legs for the remainder of his life. He saw it in her eyes and knew instantly what she was thinking of.

"Arya," he murmured softly, his hands on her arms. "Benjen told me what happened; I'm so sorry something like that happened to your brother."

She felt tears well in her eyes. "It shouldn't have happened, Jon. Not to him—anybody but him!" she cried.

He pulled her to his chest, an arm around her shoulders, his other hand gently at the back of her hair as she cried into his chest out in the hallway, passing corporals giving them a wide berth. "I know, I know," he murmured to her.

She clutched at the back of his uniform with desperate fingers. Hugging Jon was nothing like hugging her mother, father, or older brother; it was different in all the best ways that it could possibly be. "He's such a goofy, smart, serious kid, never done a bad thing in his life—it shouldn’t have happened to him!" Her sobs were muffled in the folds of material as he continued to hold her as she vented all her pent up emotions. "He wanted to become a Crow, he wanted to be in service of the Seven Kingdoms, and this is how the Old Gods repay him. It's so unfair! It's my fault—"

He interrupted her, "It's not," softly but firmly.

She pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyelashes clumped together with tears. "It is! I fell off the wall first. It should have been me, not him!"

"Your wrong," he told her. "I don't know your brother Arya, but I think that Bran would agree with me when I say that you were spared for a reason, that this injury claimed him instead of you because you were meant to do things n one else can. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself, he wouldn't want you to quit, he would want you to embrace being a Crow more than ever because that was what you were meant to be."

Arya sniffed as she searched Jon's brown eyes, her tears dribbling to a stop. Bran had told her those exact things that day they were playing checkers, he didn't want her to blame herself, he wanted her to keep being her, to plough ahead and show what she could be, and that something was great. "He did,"

"See? Didn't I tell you?"

"You did,"

"And don't you remember? You're going to be a Legend in this place, a Hero. Right, little sister." He mussed her hair like he always did, and everything negative she had been feeling just fell away inside her. Jon always knew what to say, knew what to do—no one had ever been able to do that with her before Jon came along.

"And you're going to save the world!" She laughed.

"Side by side," he grinned.

She scoffed at him and sighed. "I better get going. I was supposed to check-in with Tanner almost two hours ago."

"Oh, then you should definitely go... before he decides to skin you alive for the fun of it." Jon told her.

"How funny of you." She said sarcastically. "Because it's not really funny, he's probably sharpening his knives to do just that."

"Then you better hurry," he smirked, "before he does."

A shudder went through her as she sped away back to the stairs, Jon's laughter rolling out behind her. He could laugh all he wanted, this was some serious stuff. If Tanner was actually expecting her, and she was sure that Benjen informed him that she was back, then the music that she was about to face wouldn't be pleasant at all.

She went to his single sleep cell on the first floor where all the other ROs were stationed in the Nightfort; it was the only place that she thought he could be. She paused for a moment at his closed door, giving herself that second to straighten herself out and look as sharp as she could after standing in the sweatshop, running, crying, being smothered in Jon's shoulder, having her hair purposefully mussed, and then running again.

Arya didn't sense him, hadn't even heard him come up behind her. A chill went up and down her spine as his warm breath caressed her ear. So he wasn't in his cell after all.

"Nice of you to finally show up, Stark." Tanner spoke softly from behind her.

She tensed. "Sorry, sir. I got a little sidetracked coming."

"Oh, that fine." He cooed, "because I've got a few years yet with you to make up for lost time." She couldn't stop the shudder and knew that he noticed. He gave a hollow chuckle. "Just you and me, Stark. I'm going to mold you into the best soldier this Wall has ever seen, whether you want it or not."

She gulped, this had been Benjen's plan from the very start, hadn't it?

_-the end-  
_**********Game/of/Thrones********** _  
~ tbc in... N.W.H.S: The Wall Military Academy_ — _White Walkers, Wildlings, and Wights ~_  
**********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know Arya's been really emotional in this fic, but you can all understand that, right? This is a very emotional time for the whole Stark family. Though no one died, everything for the Starks have changed forever.**
> 
> **I hope that you’ve like what you read and will review about whatever you like, and please check out the up coming sequel. :)**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **Castle Black** = It is the main command building of the Wall, holding all the high ranking officers offices. It is also the main command for the Night's Watches Crow Unit.
> 
> 4th-years2 = Though this signifies the years that a recruit has been training at the Wall, corporals training as a Crow, Gull, or Hawk, will still be considered a fourth-year even after several years of training in the Night's Watch forces. They will be called fourth-years until they graduate from their specialized training and are promoted from corporals.  
> The Garden and Greenhouse = The Garden is located in Brandon's Gift on the western side coming before the bathhouse, laundry, and toilets. It is tended by the officers and recruits of the Wall. A cross between an outdoor garden and greenhouse, it is where the Wall get's all of their fruits and vegetables all year round.
> 
> The Armoury = is a set of buildings west of the Garden and Greenhouse in Brandon's Gift. There is the ammunition shed, the firearm shed, and the Armoury Shop. The Shop is where all the bullets are manufactured by hand (has the feeling of a sweatshop), and firearms are assembled. It is run by Major Donal Noye.
> 
> Physical Test or PT (Hell's Lane) = The Wall has a physical test course that the first- and second-years must go through at the end of each month that is similar to the APA course at the Stadiums. The third- and fourth-years must go through a tougher, more advanced course at the end of each week (called Hell‘s Lane).
> 
> Nightfort tower = This is the tower at the Wall that houses all the forth-year corporals, along with their assigned ranking officers. There is a small shower and toilet facility located on the first floor, where the RO cells are also located (it is mostly used by them/the corporals usually just go to the bath house in Brandon's Gift on the Eastside). [This used to be the main headquarters back in the old days when the Wall was just starting out, but it wasn’t big enough so the built Castle Black as a replacement.][Jon and Ygrittes sleep cell is on the 2nd floor, and Arya's (formoly Gendry's) is located on the 3rd floor of the tower).
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~Arya finally returns to the Wall after what was only supposed to be a month medical leave, but turned into two months, to more changes at the Wall. While Arya was a away, Gendry changed areas at the Wall, from training as a Crow, to a General Officer working at the Armoury. And now she is to train under Lt. Karl Tanner solo-style.  
>  ~ Tanner's nickname is the Skull King (in reference to when he drinks from Lord Commander Mormont's skull in the show)_
> 
> **Thanks for Reading!**
> 
> **CHECK OUT THE UP COMING SEQUEL:J  
>  J"NORTH WINTER HIGH SCHOOL: THE WALL MILITARY ACADEMY - White Walkers, Wildlings, and Wights.” **


	11. The Complete Key & Stark Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is note a chapter, but an official KEY to the story in alphabetical order, and includes the Stark Notes in order of chapter.

Stark Notes:

CHAPTER 1

Arya is the first female to ever become a corporal at the Wall, and is the first to become of rank with just a year of training as a recruit.

~Karl Tanner is Arya and Gendry's Crow trainer. He is a harsh instructor that makes sure that the lessons he teaches are learned.

~Alliser Thorne trains all the third-year cadets, which contains the two 3rd-year barracks which at full capacity holds 80 cadets at any one time.

~Arya was always climbing trees as a kid, both to prove how better she could at it than Robb, for fun, and to annoy her mother. She fallen once or twice, and broken an arm once before.

CHAPTER 3

~Sansa is attending modeling school.

~Robb still lives at home, it's just easier that way while he finishes getting his business degree. The girlfriend that was mentioned in NWHS: TW(M)A chapter 14, they've broken up since then. He usually calls his youngest sister "Ar".

~Bran can be an even better climber than Arya.

CHAPTER 4

**~** Could Arya’s consistent dreams of falling, with the focus of the wall, Bran and being helpless to do nothing, a sign of things to come? or are they just caused by the pain meds?

~Arya has another dream that has occurred on different occasions in the last year-and-a-half about the glowing blue eyes that she saw on a shadowed beast her first time in the Beyond with Jon as they camped in the weirwood grove **. [** this occurred in **NWHS: tW(M)A chapter 9]**

~Robb: 5'11", Sansa: 5'9", Arya: 5'0", Bran: 5'8", Ned: 5'11", Catelyn: 5'5". [these facts are true... I found them on the internet.](*Snicker*){I am being for serious!}

CHAPTER 5

When Bran was at the top of the wall, with the other beefy-boys right there as well, you could imagine how crowded it must have been. Whether on purpose or not, Bran was elbowed and knocked off the wall. He turned, trying to grab onto the edge of the wall, or one of the ropes leading down from the wall, but was unable and hit the ground on his back.

~Arya seemed to have injured herself further when she slipped down the stairs at the Stadium, but didn't start to feel anything until the adrenaline rush faded and stopped masking the pain long enough to get to the hospital (a rather convenient place to collapse, don't you think?)

CHAPTER 6

**~** Lyanna died in a riot as a teenager while doing a non-violent protest for women ’s rights and equality in the Seven Kingdoms.

_**~** Brandon was killed in a hit and run incident outside the bar where he had gone to celebrate the best record in the north and his recruitment to the Wall on his last run of the course.  
_ CHAPTER 7

~ The Starks live in Winterfell City, the capitol of the north and the location of the only Stadium in the north. They live in a two-story brownstone house with their own backyard, adorned with a small deck, oak tree, and garden. It has five-bedrooms upstairs with a single bathroom, a small attic and basement, a kitchen with a space for a kitchen table, a laundry room, and entertainment room that acts as living room and Ned's home office.

CHAPTER 9

~ Bran has finally awoken after about a month in a coma after his fall from the wall in the APA course. The contusion to his skull has healed, his hip is nearly there, but the spinal damage appears to be permanent. The doctors aren't very optimistic, will Bran ever walk again, climb again, or will a wheelchair be his state for the rest of his life?

CHAPTER 10

~Arya finally returns to the Wall after what was only supposed to be a month medical leave, but turned into two months, to more changes at the Wall. While Arya was a away, Gendry changed areas at the Wall, from training as a Crow, to a General Officer working at the Armoury. And now she is to train under Lt. Karl Tanner solo-style.

~ Tanner's nickname is the Skull King (in reference to when he drinks from Lord Commander Mormont's skull in the show)

__  
**********Game/of/Thrones********  
*  
THE WALL MILITARY ACADEMY Interlude INDEX:**

/#/

**4th-years** 2 = Though this signifies the years that a recruit has been training at the Wall, corporals training as a Crow, Gull, or Hawk, will still be considered a fourth-year even after several years of training in the Night's Watch forces. They will be called fourth-years until they graduate from their specialized training and are promoted from corporals.

/A/

**APA Course =** Twenty-feet from the start point, their was a double row of a dozen tires to step through. After that was the wall twenty-feet tall that was to be climbed by net. Other side of the wall was the belly crawl in mud under a wire net. Next was the rope swing that transformed into spaced bars over a pit of water in the ground that was twenty-feet long. Some more tires. The balance beam that had the cushion of mud underneath. And finally, the 2 mile run around the field in the Stadium. 

**APA Course Participants =** It has been a long standing law that male high school students at the ages of 15-to-18 must participate in the Athletic Proficiency Assessment Course with the exception of being physically challenged, injured, or dead. Two-years ago, females the ages of 15-to-18 were allowed to participate, but unlike the boys, there participation is optional.

**APA Event =** This event lasts a complete week, seven days, in July. It takes place rain or shine, from early morning until around 2000-2100 in the evening.   
~ _There hasn't been a death at the Winterfell Stadium in years, or injury of this severity. But apparently, the show must go on!_

**The Armoury =** is a set of buildings west of the Garden and Greenhouse in Brandon's Gift. There is the ammunition shed, the firearm shed, and the Armoury Shop. The Shop is where all the bullets are manufactured by hand (has the feeling of a sweatshop), and firearms are assembled. It is run by Major Donal Noye.

**Athletic Proficiency Assessment or APA =** the physical course test that grades each boy in high school from the age 15 to 18 in order to see if they are fit for the Wall Academy, or other such professions such as police, fireman, athlete; by order of the President with the leaders of the Military since the Wall first became a training facility thousands of years ago _._  
**~** The APA Stadium is like the super bowl stadium, though not as fancy, one built in each of the major cities in Westeros.  
**~** Just allowed females to participate and join the military.

/B/

**The Beyond =** The Beyond is a area that is as controlled as the military could make. It was 300 miles in length, 150 miles in width; the area just after the Wall's northern side and the area before the start of the Land of Always Winter. Fenced off, and complete with hundreds of hidden cameras to monitor the recruits' drills. The land consisted of a small mountain rang called the Frost Fangs, on the farthest upper West side; dense forest called the Haunted Forest, chocked with fog, laying on the length along the Wall; and covering the northern east of the Beyond was a cold, windy tundra covered in snow and ice; a river that ran through the middle, branching off into the West and East and lay frozen over in the tundra but not the forest. Of course, there were wild animals that still roamed, like mountain cats in the Frost Fangs, moose and the like in the Haunted Forest, and polar bears and mammoths in the snow tundra—controlled as it could be, it was still dangerous.  
~ _First-years study the Beyond, but it's not until cadets become second-years that they start doing [survival] training in the Beyond. [ **ARYA IS THE EXCEPTION TO THIS RULE BECAUSE THOUGH SHE HAD ONLY COMPLETED HALF THE FIRST-YEAR TRAINING, SHE WAS FAST TRACKED TO THE THIRD-YEARS]**_

**/C/**

**Castle Black =** It is the main command building of the Wall, holding all the high ranking officers offices. It is also the main command for the Night's Watches Crow Unit.

**Craster's Keep =** Is a small, laid out village that was built in the New Gift to do gun drills, such as infantry. Built in with board targets and soft targets, cameras, and a platform built above the roofless course for the instructor to watch the exercise.

**Crow =** The Night's Watch special ground forces stationed out of Castle Black, drilled as third-years by Drill Sergeant Alliser Thorne, trained as Crow by another Crow (i.e. Karl Tanner or Qhorin Halfhand), but commanded by Colonel Benjen Stark and Lord Commander Joer Mormont.

/D/

/E/

/F/

**Flea Bottom =** A small town in King's Landing. This town is at the very bottom of the food chain. It's status is poor, it's condition rundown. This is where criminals, drug dealers/addicts and the poor reside; on all accounts a rough township with little government and police attention.  
_~This is where Gendry Waters is from.  
~Gin Valley district/neighbourhood in Flea Bottom where Karl Tanner is from._

/G/

**The Garden and Greenhouse =** The Garden is located in Brandon's Gift on the western side coming before the bathhouse, laundry, and toilets. It is tended by the officers and recruits of the Wall. A cross between an outdoor garden and greenhouse, it is where the Wall get's all of their fruits and vegetables all year round.

**Glowing Blue Eyes =** These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the groove of the weir wood/heart tree.

/H/

/I/

/J/

/K/

/L/

/M/

**Medical =** Is the medical facilities located in the New Gift on the eastside. Its chief doctor is Dr. Luwin. There are only two staff that are female; Dr. Mordane and Nurse Practitioner Talisa who care for the female recruits that were let into the Wall two-years ago. This is where all recruits and offices get their physical exams/check-ups, and any medical treatment.

/N/

**Nightfort tower =** This is the tower at the Wall that houses all the forth-year corporals, along with their assigned ranking officers. There is a small shower and toilet facility located on the first floor, where the RO cells are also located (it is mostly used by them/the corporals usually just go to the bath house in Brandon's Gift on the Eastside). [This used to be the main headquarters back in the old days when the Wall was just starting out, but it wasn’t big enough so the built Castle Black as a replacement.][Jon and Ygrittes sleep cell is on the 2nd floor, and Arya's (formoly Gendry's) is located on the 3rd floor of the tower).

/O/

/P/

**Physical Test or PT (Hell's Lane) =** The Wall has a physical test course that the first- and second-years must go through at the end of each month that is similar to the APA course at the Stadiums. The third- and fourth-years must go through a tougher, more advanced course at the end of each week (called Hell‘s Lane) _._

/Q/

/R/

/S/

**Slop Duty =** Can be another form of punishment for recruits, it's the even more gruelling task of cleaning the kitchen and dishes after a meal. Washing hundreds of dishes, pots, pans, silverware, and taking out the remains, and then taking the veggie peelings all the way to the Garden and Greenhouse to use as compost.

/T/

/U/

/V/

/W/

**The Wall =** Thousands of years ago it was a defence against the White Walkers, an invading and savage race, but has long turned into the top military recruitment training depot and base in Westeros. It takes on the top students who run the APA course, and trains the recruits for four-years before they become official officers of the Night's Watch.   
_~_ The Military has complete control over itself, not the President of the Seven Kingdoms.  
~ While the Wall is independent from Westeros, they need the President to implement these such actions on the Country. Such as: the APA course etc.  
~It's rival is the Military outlet across the Narrow Sea that train soldiers called the Unsullied.  
~Has recently allowed females to join, as briefly ago as two-years. And just last year for the first time allowed a Wildling young woman to join as well.

**The Weirwood or Heart Tree =** The heart tree is a sacred growth and thing of worship of the Old Gods of the Forest. Long ago, when the Andals landed on Westeros and implemented their religion of the Seven, they tore out and desecrated most of the weirwood trees of worship. Few survived, all in the North. Now, in this present day, they are mostly depicted in history books and in museums. The Beyond is the sight of one of the last heart trees.

/X/

/Y/

/Z/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for Reading!  
>  DON'T FORGET TO KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE UP-COMING SEQUEL:  
> ~  
> "NORTH WINTER HIGH SCHOOL: THE WALL MILITARY ACADEMY: WHITE WALKERS, WILDLINGS, & WIGHTS"**

**Author's Note:**

> **I hope this first chapter had caught your interest. Got some background on Karl Tanner, and Gendry Waters.**
> 
>  
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
>  
> 
>  **The Wall** = Thousands of years ago it was a defence against the White Walkers, an invading and savage race, but has long turned into the top military recruitment training depot and base in Westeros. It takes on the top students who run the APA course, and trains the recruits for four-years before they become official officers of the Night's Watch.  
>  _~The Military has complete control over itself, not the President of the Seven Kingdoms._  
>  ~ While the Wall is independent from Westeros, they need the President to implement these such actions on the Country. Such as: the APA course etc.  
> ~It's rival is the Military outlet across the Narrow Sea that train soldiers called the Unsullied.  
> ~Has recently allowed females to join, as briefly ago as two-years. And just last year for the first time allowed a Wildling young woman to join as well.
> 
> Craster's Keep = Is a small, laid out village that was built in the New Gift to do gun drills, such as infantry. Built in with board targets and soft targets, cameras, and a platform built above the roofless course for the instructor to watch the exercise.
> 
> Flea Bottom = A small town in King's Landing. This town is at the very bottom of the food chain. It's status is poor, it's condition rundown. This is where criminals, drug dealers/addicts and the poor reside; on all accounts a rough township with little government and police attention.  
>  _~This is where Gendry Waters is from._  
>  ~Gin Valley district/neighbourhood in Flea Bottom where Karl Tanner is from.
> 
>  
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> _~Arya is the first female to ever become a corporal at the Wall, and is the first to become of rank with just a year of training as a recruit._  
>  ~Karl Tanner is Arya and Gendry's Crow trainer. He is a harsh instructor that makes sure that the lessons he teaches are learned.  
> ~Alliser Thorne trains all the third-year cadets, which contains the two 3rd-year barracks which at full capacity holds 80 cadets at any one time.  
> ~Arya was always climbing trees as a kid, both to prove how better she could at it than Robb, for fun, and to annoy her mother. She fallen once or twice, and broken an arm once before. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Thanks for Reading!**


End file.
